text: “The brightest sun shone, through the clearest skies.” Ichad was reciting another of his biographical poems, his own invention he often remarks. He says that he enjoys reminiscing because it reminds him that he had lived a full life, though I think that he enjoys it more because it gives him an opportunity to flaunt. He never had an issue with arrogance on his moral compass and never cared if others did. Reciting the poems helps him with painting - the words focus the mind on the truth he says. Whatever that means. There was always something undeniably magical about how he'd get lost in the nostalgia of the history imbedded in his poems. Many times I could swear I saw a mirage in his amber eyes of the young voyaging Ichad; fearless adventurer, scourge of tradition, father of modern technology. Images of eerie foes and great deeds danced like reflections - hints of old emotions would surface ever so often as he continued to paint: his hand guided as if by instinct while his eyes focused on the past. Indeed, he is by all accounts a great polymath and hero of the Empire. Or once had been. All that was more than a lifetime ago I'm certain. All that progress, all that discovery had been achieved before my time and now Ichad sits before me calm and peaceful, as though his attention is ever present elsewhere. Each stroke on the canvas so slowly and expertly executed, each glance back at the mountains he was painting - a long drawn out dream. Not the man of pursuit, purpose and haste as my father describes. Though I suppose that is how the chronicles of time are written. Ichad is my mentor in natural philosophy, art and sciences and he is an inventor whose creations have changed our Empire for the better in more ways than will ever be attributed to him. He is the kindest and most respectful person I’ve ever met. But foremost, he is my closest friend. "On Royal blue canvas - a blinding white corona..." "Too dramatic, it's still a dull day despite the good weather" "Great weather - and it’s never a dull day when you're learning, my young cynical princess" I was rehearsing court etiquette, not learning. And it was dull. Idle. Everyone was busy preparing for an official visit from one of the other Isles. I never bothered to pay much attention. "What's with this visit Ichad? I want to go explore" "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about Emily, just some routine royal business - trade discussions or some such other jestering" “That doesn’t interest me - I want to be like you were once - an explorer.” I wanted to go climb those jagged mountains I wasn't allowed to. It was frustrating sitting and simply staring at them from the Palace balcony. "I wish I could stop time and move those rocks closer, I'd be able to climb them then and be back before the official visit" "Intriguing, and how would you achieve that?" "Simple, I would ask the smartest most powerful and greatest inventor in the whole of the Seven Isles to move them for me, you can move them can't you?” He paused just briefly before answering - the momentary excitement and comprehension in his eyes giving way to a somber and introspective look. "Emily... the young and ambitious strive for the power which would allow them to move mountains and the wisdom to turn seconds into hours but older and wiser, having attained that power, they understand why it is that they shouldn’t use it." "What is the point of striving for this power then if you will not use it?" I got the impression that he agreed with me at first, or could understand my frustration as though he himself still felt it. After a brief moment, he got up and walked over to the North side of the balcony - overlooking the city port below. "Come sit with me; look out as far as you can see - one day all of this, everywhere under the blue canvas, everything touched by the white rays, the palace, the city, the mountains, the whole of the Empire and its Seven Isles and beyond the horizon, beyond the corners of what we know exists - all of it will be yours as Queen. And when it is, you will have the power to change this world as you'd like; you will be the painter and the world your canvas and you will remember me then my young princess... because you will choose to change nothing at all" “Nothing? I want my painting to be perfect. In my painting there wouldn’t be any bad things.” “Yes, nothing - look at my painting it is just like the real thing. Isn’t it perfect?” At the time, I argued, I told him it wasn’t perfect - his painting - it could be better. I was furious. I explained that if we all thought as he did the world would see no progress, the Empire would stagnate, the just would never rise above the criminal, decadence would persevere while with each idea not realised because of apathy and each innocent soul lost due to ignorant rage, enlightenment would slip further and further away. If the righteous do not protect the weak evil takes root and innocent people suffer. If we do not stand for what is right then who will? How could he even say such things being an inventor and researcher all his life? Has he not changed the world beyond what was thought possible? Has he not prevented terrible things from happening? I told him that he was wrong - that I would make changes. I would paint not as things are but how I would like them to be, for it is up to the good people of this world to bring about change so that happiness, health and prosperity would be rights to all not luxuries of the few. I would attain that power to move mountains, turn seconds into hours and see the truth without light. That was what I told him that afternoon. That was decades past. And now? Now, just as my own youth bid welcome to experience once, experience welcomes content. As I grew older and more accustomed to the world and it's people, society and it's rules - I learned that our hearts aren't only capable of love but envy and jealousy as well and our minds aren't only capable of compassion but hate and wickedness as well: I learned that our souls aren’t only capable of inspiration but doubt and fear as well. I have come to understand many things in life but foremost now I understand what Ichad was telling me so many summers past: The balance that exists is incorruptible and all the change you perceive in life is just an illusion, relative in time, fading slowly as your own line stretches further until eventually progress can no longer be understood as ascent upwards because discovery and invention become just steps on Penrose stairs: to realise that to discover is an act of finding something which was found, and lost, ages ago does naught but enervate the soul. One winter Ichad had organized an expedition to a far away place. As he departed he handed me a note which read: “all that you could ever want is within you - I was as you are, and you will be as I am.” He has left me some time ago, I presume to pass from this world peacefully away from the eyes of people he would rather not indulge with his death or perhaps to go on one last adventure but truthfully I wish he has managed to escape this inexorable wheel of Illusions, as I hope I will one day as well. He left me a gift most precious, a memorabilia of our afternoons together - his masterpiece. A painting: “The Queens Canvas”. And as I sit on my palace balcony with a crown upon my head looking out across the landscape so expertly recreated in Ichad’s painting of that afternoon, those jagged mountains smile at me. It is perfect. I am at peace.