Discordant Note | TBATE

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Toren Asclepius

I pulled back from my sense of the soul, a strained breath leaving my body. I leaned forward from where I'd been sitting cross-legged, my hands clenching around my knees. My heartrate wasn't exactly fast, but it was uneven.

Circe Milview, I thought distantly, blinking as I relived memories of Norgan's death. How it felt superimposed over her emotions. And Seth. What happened to him?

I knew Seth was healed, now. Whatever… however Circe had managed to channel my abilities—

A worried hand clasped my shoulder. I looked up, noting a phoenix as they looked down at me with visible worry. "Are you well, young blood?" he asked in a concerned tone. "We sensed… a disturbance in you. A break in your emotions that was unnatural."

I blinked, remembering where I was. I was meditating in one of the glades of the Sunswept Gardens with many of my clanmembers. It was something of a tradition here every morning to center oneself and cultivate both mana and serenity. Aurora herself was off somewhere else doing the same thing as she caught up with her loved ones. For now, our bond was distant and slightly muted as we allowed ourselves time to grow and mesh with our family.

And speaking of family, many of the other Asclepius members had broken from their trances as well and were staring at me with burning orange eyes laced with concern.

"I'm alright," I replied hesitantly, recognizing the man who'd asked after me—Sundren, one of the older phoenixes. "It's just… something happened. When I'm meditating, I'm closer to my soul. And just now, I… felt something."

I rolled my words around in my mouth, trying to find the right way to describe it. I hadn't been truly in the Sea of my Soul, but I'd been coasting about the edges of it. Feeling the dips and weaves and mists of my essence.

And I'd felt a sort of… cry. A resonating tug on my being that echoed of grief-despair-faith-pain-death. A terrible, mournful plea that resounded with the true language of souls as it washed over me.

It was a familiar emotion. And when I'd answered the call—the same way I'd followed Tessia Eralith's soul to her body when she'd been attacked in Zestier—I'd been able to heal Circe's wounds. But her emotions hadn't settled from that.

And then she'd done something. Something I didn't really understand as my power resonated with her blood. Like a sort of… pseudo bond, she'd drawn on my insight to heal her brother.

I turned my head, looking in the direction I knew the two resided now. Far, far, far, far to the northwest, Circe knelt in Alacrya with her brother.

Ever since Seris had expressed her uncertainty about how I peered at her soul, I'd restrained myself from actively looking at the spirits of those I could see. Arthur, Sylvie, Tessia, Cylrit, Seris, Naereni, Sevren, Wade… Though I could see them, I kept my eyes averted. It was Agrona's domain to pick apart the mind and tear away a person's deepest secrets. I would not do so without the consent of those in question.

But this was the first time someone had called out to me.

"Someone called out with their soul," I said quietly, my eyes unfocused. "I answered them."

The phoenixes about me shifted, looking with a mix of interest and worry. Sundren slowly sat himself down, the grass bending like a graceful dancer beneath his loose robes. "Called to you with their soul…" he said slowly, sharing a few uncertain looks with the rest of the clan gathered.

"The soul… Our heartfire arts are potent with the Vessel. The soul was the domain of… others," Aubuen—a younger phoenix—said. A solemn silence slowly grew throughout the glade, silver-barked leaves reflecting light in orange ribbons in a truly fantastical way. But despite the alluring and almost phantasmal glow, I suddenly realized that no wind blew through this little slice of attempted paradise.

I had only been with these asura for a few days as Aurora and I prepared for the coming Forum, but already I felt like I had known them for a decade. The way their intent and emotions seeped through and around me was so like my own that I felt each phoenix had watched me grow through my childhood and into the person I was now.

If the basilisks were creatures of decay and cold, apathetic science, then phoenixes were beings of passion. They felt each emotion in their hearts with the greatest potency possible. When they felt joy, it was with every cell of their body, with every swell of mana. When they were confronted with a challenge, no matter how small, their drive and conviction swelled like a bonfire.

And when they felt grief, it was with every sense of their soul.

I felt that sudden switch as Aubuen's words resounded across the glade. With every stretch of sound, the emotions of those present dipped. From the tranquil serenity of meditation to an almost wrenching, overwhelming grief.

Aubuen looked away. Sundren slumped, and Soleil ground his teeth. Lithen simply opted to shut his eyes tightly.

"Are you okay?" I started, feeling worried that such a topic brought those close to me to such sudden grief. "What—"

"It is nothing of consequence," Lithen lied in a poor attempt to deflect my inquiry. I could almost taste the pain radiating through his emotions as he ignored my words. "If you wish to learn more of the soul, then speak with Mordain. He is the only one that can assist you in your unique quest for insight."

I worked my jaw, sensing that I'd somehow stumbled across something raw and painful.

But before I could ask more—or apologize—I felt another resonant pull on my soul.

It was like what Circe Milview had somehow done, but also not. It wasn't nearly as full or desperate as what she'd tried. More measured and purposeful rather than a cry of despair into the void.

"Toren," a voice feathered through my spirit, "talk with me."

I perked up, turning my head to the side as I sensed the source of the call to my soul. It was a strange thing. Like I heard something without hearing. Smelt an aroma without smelling. Felt an emotion without feeling it.

"Our prince calls for you," Lithen said quietly, noting my sudden attention. "Mayhaps he has answers to your inquiries, young blood. Do not tarry here long when he calls. It is always for a good reason."

I slowly stood, looking over the meditating asura. They'd managed to pull their sorrow back beneath their feathered wings with surprising swiftness, but…

"I'll be back when I can," I promised, before I began to walk from the glade.

It was only when I reached the far exit of the Sunswept Gardens that I realized something.

There was only one other people whose aetheric arts were potent enough to reach the soul. One other people who might instill such grief into the Asclepius clan.

The djinn.

—

It was easy to find Mordain. His strange form of soul-telepathy gave me a vague sense of spatial location, just as every other interaction with a soul had done for me. But what wasn't simple was the place I found him in.

Mordain's personal study was far more homey than I would have expected from the head of an asuran clan. A dozen knick-knacks and items that felt weighty pressed against my senses in ways I couldn't quite define. Bookshelves lined the walls, each and every tome appearing simultaneously old as the continent, but also fresh from the pen of whatever author had put down their words.

Just like Mordain himself, I thought, noting the lounging phoenix. And the room itself…

It was constructed of the same, gleaming marble as the rest of the hearth, with dark Charwood accents and runic filigree inlaid throughout. But above all else, what surprised me the most was that it was the exact same as Roa's, in everything except decoration.

"You look surprised, Toren Asclepius," Mordain mused, lounging casually in an admittedly comfortable-looking chair. The runes underneath his eyes flickered warmly. "An ember for your thoughts?"

I slotted my hands into my pockets, tracing the mana in whatever small way I could throughout the room. "I'm a little surprised, is all. You're the head of the Clan. I thought you'd have something… I don't know. Grander."

The phoenix shrugged, gesturing to another seat across from him. His long, orange hair brushed well past his shoulders—notably longer than mine. "At my age, I've learned to recognize that it's the smaller things that tend to give life meaning. They have a way of keeping score, especially on lives as long as ours."

I meandered over to the seat, inspecting the well-worn leather. As I sat down in the plush, comfortable chair, I decided to push away the thought that it was likely older than any civilization on this continent. "Considering the way you called me, are you finally going to show me a thing or two about the soul?" I asked, dwelling on all the expectations I'd built.

As Aurora had talked to me and guided me along my path, I had become increasingly aware that the only one who could truly guide me along my journey was Mordain. And though I enjoyed spending time with my family, I knew that these aspects of my power needed more direction; especially after whatever the hell it was that Circe Milview had done.

"I do not wish to disappoint you," Mordain said, leaning his cheek onto a propped fist, "but I can not yet lend you knowledge on the Soul."

I let out an irritated sigh, my shoulders loosening. "Is it because I'm actually trying to act on my future knowledge?" I pushed out with a huff. "That seems incredibly shortsighted of you."

Visions of the letter Mordain had sent me burned at the back of my vision. The deaths. The people, all laid at my feet. Because I'd changed the future.

Mordain didn't react to my words, instead choosing to remain seated. Unaffected and unmoved.

"That would be hypocritical of you, Mordain," I bit out, feeling the temper I'd restrained break past my barriers for a moment. I fidgeted, leaning forwards in my seat. "You trained Rinia and Lania Darcassan as seers, but you won't train me?"

"I can understand why you would misinterpret my words, Toren Asclepius," the Lost Prince said, tilting his chin downwards slightly. "I cannot teach you while the Forum still goes on. Mana, martial arts… These won't influence any potential victory. But the soul will. And I must remain impartial."

That sentence wasn't just about the Forum. I could read between the lines, see the stance Mordain was presenting.

"So you'll always remain impartial?" I pushed, stilling myself as I smoothed out my irritation. "Even though you can see the future itself, you opt to sit on the sidelines?"

The phoenix nodded slowly. "A simplification," he allowed, then tilted his head. "But it is not in the Hearth's interest to step out onto the world stage. They can make such a decision on their own, of course, and should they take that step I will follow."

"Then what about Rinia and Lania?" I countered. "They learned here. They were trained by you here, and then set out to use their powers."

The Lost Prince looked older again, that strange shift in his ethereal, eternally youthful projection letting in the wear and tear. "My sight of the future is not perfect, and I have never claimed it to be as such," he said softly. "I am most skilled in scrying the outcomes of the immediate short term. Of hours and days, rather than months or years. There are some absolutes that I can weigh the probabilities of—that are almost always guaranteed to come about, no matter my intervention—but I admit that my sight of the distant future is deeply flawed.

"So I found two elves who had the gift of foresight in their blood, instilled from the ancient djinn. And over the years, I taught them what I had learned from my own escapades, and what the last of the People of Life left behind. For a purpose. But I was wrong to do so, in the very end."

I rested my elbows on my knees, working my jaw as I filtered this information away. I thought I could glimpse the final throughline that he was trying to get me to reach. "And those two could see farther, couldn't they? With more accuracy?"

But if Mordain couldn't even see the future—and if Rinia acted independently of him, now—then that removed any possible excuse for his inaction. It wasn't as if he foresaw an event that justified it all: he just sat still. Refused to move.

And Rinia is working to try and change the future, I thought angrily, finally forcing myself to stand. The seer was currently gathering resources to prepare for the aftermath of the war and create rebellion from within. Which was more than Mordain did.

"You chastised me for intervening in the world, Mordain," I said, my body swelling with mana and indignation. "You sent a letter blaming me for the deaths of thousands. Thousands, because of my actions."

My fists clenched at my sides, my nails nearly drawing blood from my palms. "So tell me why."

My intent warped around me, carrying all my desperate agitation. Like a sweltering summer day that only wished to warm, but could not help its intensity, my aura cloyed at the edges of Mordain's. Begging that he would give me something that wouldn't leave me with hatred.

The Lost Prince's features took on a solemn expression like a well-worn coat, each of the threads of exhaustion fitting perfectly over limbs of skin. He slowly stood, his cream-colored robes flowing with him. "I need to show you something. I think we should get to know each other better, and this study is not the place."

—

A room nearly as vast as the Sunswept Gardens greeted me as I exited a marble tunnel. The walls were covered in silver sconces and autumn-fire leaves, of course, and the scents of cinnamon and hickory and home still pervaded everywhere.

But what truly drew my eye were the countless floating islands all across the room. Each was held aloft by a swirling vortex of wind beneath. Those tiny islands—each about as large as I was—bore varied arrays of plants and stonework atop of them. Some stood stationary under the effects of their little storms, others rose and fell intermittently, while some drifted about lazily like fish in a stream.

Every little island had a wax candle atop it of varying sizes. All about the room, small storms gradually grew, churned across the air, and then dissipated once more with a crackling of summer force.

"Marvelous, isn't it?" Mordain said with amusement, watching my stare of restrained bafflement at the otherworldly display in front of me. "It's a poor recreation of a featherwick board compared to what we had in the Starbrand Sanctum, but it does have its charm."

"Featherwick board?" I echoed, watching how a specific island seemed to drift upside down and around one of the intermittent storms. It did a little loop-de-loop, like a ballerina performing a graceful flip.

"It's an old game of phoenix design," Mordain explained. He rested his hands leisurely in the waistband of his loose robes. "See all the candles? They're all lit before the game starts, and the objective of each player is to snuff out as many candles as they can at once."

I tracked my eyes back to the Lost Prince of the Asclepius clan. "With magic?" I asked skeptically.

The runes beneath Mordain's eyes flickered warmly in tune with his eyes. "Not at all." He withdrew his hands from his waistband, revealing something in them. "With our feathers, of course."

I blinked in surprise at the familiar aura radiating from the item in Mordain's hands, remembering a time long ago when I'd held a mirror of it. A phoenix feather nestled there, glimmering with a healthy orange sheen.

"If you wish to play a game with me, I'd be happy to provide what feathers I have to spare," he said amiably. "There are many variations of the game, but we can choose the simplest so as not to overwhelm a new player."

I considered this for a moment before shaking my head. I waved my hand, focusing on my regalia as I conjured a vein of heartfire, before layering it with a telekinetic shroud. Mordain had brought me here intentionally. He wanted to prove some sort of point.

The result was a glimmering feather of crystalline mana that sat lightly in my hand and refracted dawnlight. I flourished it through my fingers, staring at Mordain with a raised brow. "Will this work?"

Mordain inspected it for a moment, his eyes flashing with a hue of orange. "So long as you don't manipulate it with that spellform of yours, then I think it's a fair substitute. I can take the first move so you can grasp what the objective is."

The phoenix snapped his fingers, and suddenly every single candlewick was alight with tiny orange flames. The Lost Prince's control was so absolute that I wouldn't have been able to tell the fires were even lit with mana without looking at them.

It was eerie.

"You cannot cross this line before your throw," the man said casually, strolling to the edge of the massive array of floating islands. "And you cannot use magic to influence the feather after it has left your hand. Try to cut the wick of your target, and the fire will go out. The objective is to put out more fires than your opponent. Observe, Toren Asclepius."

The Lost Prince casually cocked back his arm, tilting his head like Aurora always did whenever she focused. The feather between his fingers glistened with a soft light, and from its sheen, I could not tell if it was sharp like a blade or unweighted like cotton.

Then the asura threw the feather. Contrary to my expectations, it didn't break the sound barrier from an explosion of force or zip about unnaturally. It flew forward like a paper airplane at a leisurely pace, moving toward the ground below us.

I furrowed my brow, seeing immediately that it would hit the ground. But instead, something strange happened.

One of those unpredictable storms suddenly churned into existence, a small tornado rising upward from the ground in a manner that would be impossible in nature. The little tempest caught the feather, pulling it in a swirl of orange as it flew higher and higher.

One of the drifting islands intercepted the tempest, and I watched as the interplay caused the tiny storm to finally break away. It unraveled from within, the wind expanding outward. The little feather was thrown unnaturally far by the collision.

My eyebrows rose slightly as Mordain's feather gracefully crested over another floating island, before its paradoxically sharp edge casually snipped one candle's wick.

The fire went out, and the feather finally drifted to the island's base unscathed.

"This is not the most impressive of plays, of course," Mordain said with candid humility, "but I assume you grasp the measure of this game?"

I nodded slowly, stepping up to the throwing line. My eyes traced the dozens of floating islands and shifting storms, imagining a charted path in my mind. I meshed myself with my senses, feeling the air, the push and pull of mana everywhere about me.

"Say, Mordain," I said, my eyes intent on a faraway wick as it burned merrily, "how much of me can you see?"

The Lost Prince was silent for a moment. "You're quick to ask questions, aren't you?"

"And you're quick to give a nonanswer," I countered, subtly aligning my shot. "The entire reason we're here is so we can 'get to know each other better,' isn't it?"

Mordain sighed. He bore an air of eternal youth and impossible grace about him like a cloak, but the way his eyes aged in that split instant told me how ancient he was. "An aura of rebirth clings to you, Toren," he said simply. "It is clear enough from that that you're a reincarnate."

I rolled my shoulders. "And?"

"The future knowledge you spoke of… It is taken from Earth. The same Earth as the others reincarnates, just from a different time. I truthfully do not understand how it came to be."

I threw my feather. While Mordain had casually let his catch the wind, I hurled mine like a throwing knife. The currents of air brushed and redirected it as it curved around a surging tempest, before expertly severing a wick that floated closer to the ground. My mana dissipated the moment my shot was successful.

I stepped back, feeling satisfied. I looked at Mordain, tilting my head inquisitively. "Very astute," I said, my tone laced with a bit of sarcasm. "And how did you figure that out?"

"Your soul cannot lie," Mordain said simply, stepping back up to the plate. He flourished a hand, conjuring another feather from thin air. "And as far as I can tell, neither can you."

"I've chosen to treat it as a virtue rather than a flaw," I commented, watching as Mordain leisurely readied another shot. "Honesty is a path of insight in and of itself."

"Coming to this world must have been a unique experience," the Lost Prince remarked, "even if your nature as Twinsoul made it easier. There were no asura in your old world, after all. No energies beyond aether itself and the long-forgotten ki arts of days past and future."

He tossed his feather higher this time. It coasted for a while, drifting down before it got caught in another rising tempest. "I must question what it was like, living in another world. Did every breath taste the same? Did every smell elicit the same memories? When you touch your skin, do you feel your flesh, or that of another?"

The questions left me feeling strangely philosophical. In the Hearth, an undertone of cinnamon always tickled my nose, and I could feel a breeze coasting along my arms as if I were standing on a great precipice before the winds.

"It was a change," I admitted, feeling uncomfortable but unwilling to let it show. "But I've seen far more alike than separate."

I rarely ever talked with anyone about my previous life, and the candid way Mordain spoke about my deepest secret unnerved me. I tried to keep my voice even and companionable, but it was difficult.

Not that it would matter. He can see my soul in some way. Discern my innermost self from that.

I would have to get Seris flowers of some sort when I returned to Burim. Maybe a puzzle. I suddenly felt like I had a far better idea of how she felt whenever I peeled away her masks.

"But I did adapt, as you can see. Even thrived in my own right," I said, watching with narrowed eyes as Mordain's feather approached another island. I thought for a moment that it was about to sever a wick, but it drifted past it instead.

"Ah, your nest-mate. I will admit that a lessuran with basilisk blood is an… unconventional choice," Mordain said leisurely. "And this comes from me. I'm known for breaking many traditions. I got a bad reputation for it back in Epheotus. Klethra especially cemented that."

I narrowed my eyes, not recognizing the name Klethra, but unwilling to let myself be sidetracked. Mordain had guessed that I'd been thinking about Seris… Or had he read my mind? I let out a breath as Lost Prince's feather finally snuffed the life from a candle wick. "Well, considering my mother grew to love a djinn—and no doubt many of the phoenixes of the clan did, too—I think that says something about what is possible."

Mordain shrugged. "That is different," he replied, slipping his hands into his belt again. "There was an inborn compatibility between our races. We had two reflections of life cast through our very blood. The djinn were known as the People of Life for a reason, for they made true life possible. They made the most of their short lives, creating works of art and beauty to ease the struggle of existence. In turn, we of the Asclepius endeavored to push our existence with each Sculpting. There was a middle ground in these paths. You've felt in your blood what it is like when opposites collide."

Mordain's old eyes—all too knowing—flicked to me, then toward the setting line. I couldn't sense his intent.

I exhaled, walking up to the throwing line again as I filtered the phoenix's words through my blood. I remembered the clash of my Phoenix Will and long-gone basilisk blood. How they hated each other on a fundamental level, seeking to tear each other apart. Then again how Seth Milview's Vritra heritage tore and battered at his djinni ancestry, causing his blood sickness.

I conjured a glimmering shrouded feather between my fingers, my eyes following an unseen path as I let my blood tell me of the air. "It's not as black and white as you're proposing, though," I countered. I'd granted Seth his health back. I'd found love with Seris Vritra, a Scythe of the deepest basilisk heritage. I'd forged a community between Alacrya and dwarf both, and showed highbloods what it meant to stand up with and for the weak. "Your implications aren't lost on me, Mordain, about what you mean about wider integration between asura and 'lesser' peoples. You're wrong, though. The Hearth shows this. You can't dismiss this so simply by saying your peoples were compatible, because there were just as many incompatibilities."

I threw my feather. It arced upward as the currents granted it lift, glimmering with a crystalline sheen. Then a descending tempest neared. The turbulence altered the course of my feather slightly, sending it in a diagonally downward streak.

"Your clan were hunters. The greatest of predators in Epheotus. Yet the djinn were a people of true pacifism. Your aetheric arts are focused on the Self only, while the djinn could take the World into their palms and share it with everyone." My feather sheared through one candlewick, but still, it continued downwards in an errant fall. "And though each djinn had limited existence, phoenixes are the only asura who have a claim to truly infinite life."

Another candlewick was extinguished as my feather's edge cut through the thin twine like a knife severing a hangman's rope.

Mordain nodded approvingly. "Good on you for spotting this part of the game, Toren," he said. "You are indeed encouraged to extinguish as many candles as you can at one time."

The leader of the Asclepius clan stepped up to the plate as I moved away, my limbs feeling strangely tense. "I suppose that makes it three to two in your favor. I'll have to try a bit harder, considering you've gotten the hang of this faster than any other I've met.

"And on the topic of what you just said," the phoenix continued, casually tossing his feather into the wind, "it is a solid counterargument. But it doesn't account for the sheer difference in power between asura and 'lessers.' "

Out of the corner of my eye, I noted as Mordain's feather flew about like a bird on the wing. But for the first time, he looked at me directly. "There is a reason that the humans on this continent revere the asura as deities, Toren Asclepius. Because when it comes to the power even the lowest of us can wield, that is what we are. Windsom likes to prattle on in faux-humility about how we asura aren't truly gods, but what a god is is a subjective thing." Mordain tilted his head as his feather snuffed out a far-away candleflame, inspecting me with ever-so-slightly sorrowful eyes. "We phoenixes live for uncountable years. Our powers eclipse all of the races native to Dicathen and Alacrya by orders of magnitude. And whether that qualifies us as gods or not is irrelevant."

Mordain's feather snuffed out another fire as it slowly drifted downwards. "Because there is an innate difference in power between us, and nearly every other creature we encounter. And it is that difference in power that demands we keep our weapons sheathed."

Those glimmering tufts of orange didn't sever the next wick. The feather coasted down upon the fire itself, quickly suffocating it of oxygen.

Five to three.

And here we were. The ultimate reason why we were both at this board, playing this game. Why Mordain clung to his inaction in the face of every evil in the world around him, and why he wished the Hearth to stay in isolation. Anger rose at this, but I forced it down. Now was a time for debate, not impassioned degradations of my opponent's character.

"You seem to think that because you have more power than those around you, you cannot use it," I said as I took my stance at the throwing line. Sweat beaded slightly between my fingers as the tension of this game began to increase. Though I knew my hold on my telekinetic feather would not slip as I stared at the array of floating islands and turbulent storms, my pulse still reminded me of the edge. "But that ignores everything that can be done with power."

I lined up my shot, narrowing my eyes as I let my blood sing into my ears. I remembered the currents of force I'd grown attuned to. I took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "With power comes obligation, Mordain," I said quietly. "It is our duty as those with strength to use it for the greater good of those around us. Even if the future may be bleak, even if our chances are slim. That is our burden."

I reared my arm back, preparing to throw. I planned on snuffing out at least four of the candles this time, with a low chance of striking a fifth.

"Kezess Indrath said the same thing to me before the founding of the Great Eight," Mordain lamented, the wrinkles on his face deepening in a way that made him look like a corpse. "That belief is what secured my allegiance."

My arm stuttered and shook as I threw the feather, the uttered words breaking my careful equilibrium into a million shards.

Instead of a graceful curve, my feather shot forwards, almost striking the targeted wick. Instead, it buried itself deep into the rock of a floating island.

I turned to the Lost Prince robotically, this game forgotten in its entirety for the moment. I looked into his eyes, seeing a profound sorrow there.

"Kezess Indrath saw the state of terrible war that gripped all of Epheotus. That had gripped it for countless millennia. And when he became The Absolute, he decided that he possessed an inborn duty to use his strength for the betterment of the world. I followed Kezess Indrath in his warring, Toren Asclepius," he said, his shoulders slumping. "I was the first he sought to recruit, you know. He came bearing ideals of eventual peace and unity. And what better statement that he meant what he claimed than to draw the oldest of enemies—the dragons and the phoenixes—into alliance? And peace was achieved between our clans. We even commemorated it with a saying. Let rest," the Lost Prince uttered sourly. "Let rest all our past burdens. Let rest all our past bloodshed. Let rest our animosity.

"It was only when I met J'ntarion—the Watcher of the djinn, and one of the very last yet living—that my delusions were checked. The feather I gave him was used as the catalyst for your Sculpting. The very foundations of your being prove the folly of your words."

"Am I anything like Kezess?" I countered, grinding my teeth at the implications. "Is my soul anything like his? Can you look at me and mean that?"

Mordain shook his head, his deep orange hair swaying as he closed his eyes. "I apologize for the implication that you are like the Lord of the Dragons. You are not."

He stepped back up toward the game line, a feather already between his fingers. I felt some sort of pulse in the air; a flex of heartfire that I wouldn't have been able to sense if I hadn't been listening so acutely.

Then he opened his eyes, and I saw infinity.

I felt a pulse radiate across my very soul that made it shudder. Like a swallo watching the forest it had always known burn for miles around it, I felt my very essence tremble as the weight of something great and vast and beyond rippled through me. Mordain's eyes were not focused on me as they shone with light the color of a waxing dawn, but I felt seared by the heat regardless.

I remembered what it had been like within the depths of my soul as I embraced Soulplume. As the normally serene waters instead became raging, angry seas that thrashed and fought against their bounds. I remembered the sensation of my spirit swelling from the inside, like a balloon being filled with too much air.

This was not like that. This was like standing beneath the shadow of a boot as it threatened to come down on your very mind.

And then Mordain threw his feather, just as that impossible expanse simmered away. I inhaled a shuddering breath as my eyes charted that glimmering orange feather as it dipped and weaved like a songbird through the air.

Mordain did not hold back anymore. He did not even pretend to match my skill. With every turn and twist, his plume of vibrant life struck another wick. It banished another fire. And whenever it drifted close to the ground, as if preordained by cosmic decree, a storm would rise to throw it back into the sky.

One, five, eight, twelve, fifteen… I watched it in silence, feeling Aurora's sudden panic as she asked me what was wrong. As our bond reignited from fear and motherly worry at the shudder that had gone through my soul.

But for now, I didn't answer her. Even as Mordain's feather somehow snuffed out every. Single. Candle.

All but one.

"It is the duty of those with power to keep it to themselves," Mordain said, staring at the result of his work. "Because even if you are not Kezess; even if you are not Agrona, there is a piece of them inside all of us that desires power. It demands control at the expense of all. Kezess Indrath did not begin as a genocidal warlord. He was once a man, pleading to his fellows to stop the violence. But the use of his power made him into what I failed to see."

I worked my jaw, my hands clenching at my sides. I exhaled an angry breath as I stared at what was left of the board.

"You might point to your nest-mate as one who has mastered her inner demons, but she has not. And even if she had, she is yet beneath the leash of a tyrant. In this world, there are only tyrants, Toren Asclepius."

Mordain looked at me, and for once I thought I could see deep into his soul.

Fear is what drives all lessers, Seris had once said to me. Afterward, she had demanded I rip away another of her masks. Tell her what she feared.

And I saw that same fear there in Mordain's very soul; the same one that held my lover in a grave of her own making.

"Have you ever known a world where men are free of tyrants?" he asked, tilting his head. His orange hair ran over his golden robes like a dying wildfire.

The room was silent for a time as I absorbed this. "Then that is your stance?" I asked, staring at that final ember. It was the furthest away. With the most obstacles and the greatest challenges to its completion. Whirlwinds and stone and dread barred any path to its elimination. "Agrona will destroy the Hearth if he can manage it. You'll be swept away, just like the 'lessers' of this world. The coming conflict demands the action of all. Agrona heralds the descent of the Legacy."

Mordain huffed, but it was an empty thing. "You don't know Kezess' strength," he said sadly. "Legacy or not, Agrona will fail. Kezess could have laid waste to Alacrya at any time he wished. He alone would be enough. He is Absolute. The only difference is how many bodies trail in the wake of that failure. But Alacrya stands as a unifying force amidst his people. The enemy that keeps them all beneath his yoke. And if the Hearth joins? That number will only grow infinitely higher."

I settled my stance, gritting my teeth as I glared at that final, flickering fire. Dozens of little islands and tempests blocked my path, but I wouldn't let it deter me. I wouldn't let it stop my power.

My telekinetic regalia burned. Around me, a quarter score tendrils of telekinetic power slowly formed, fuzzing white as they hummed lightly. They spiraled around me, held in place with ease.

I gestured with my arm, pointing forward. The telekinetic tendrils wove around and through each other, meshing as they stretched in front of me. Like ropes being corded together, five different tethers became one. A spinning accel path formed with record speed in front of me as I lined up my shot.

This was my answer to the slow buildup of the Stake of the Morning. This was how I made it effective in battle.

"When you looked into the future a minute ago, Mordain," I said seriously, feeling a slight strain from maintaining the accelerating highway in front of me, "did every path you see result in death?"

The Lost Prince didn't answer.

I sneered, then threw my feather into the slipstream. It accelerated with an eardrum-shattering boom as it zipped along the improved pathway. The construct of mana and heartfire blurred forward in a streak of white light, twisting as the accel path rotated it like the barrel of a gun.

The stones and storms gave my feather no resistance. I stared at the holes that had been sheared through every obstacle in its path, noting how it had utterly obliterated the candle in the following shockwave. A dark hole in the far wall expanded like a yawning pit, my casual strike piercing who-knew-how-deep into the depths of the marble.

"In my visions of the future, Kezess brought genocide to an entire race. The elves in Elshire were wiped out by the atom-crushing expanse of the World Eater Technique. Millions upon millions died in an instant, and you… you didn't even intervene. You, who can supposedly peer into the pathways of the future, did not lift a finger to halt the death of an entire race. By your own admission, you could have seen it."

I rolled my shoulders, glaring at that distant hole in the wall. I'd tried to see it from his perspective. I'd tried to ask questions, tried to see Mordain as a good man.

But I couldn't.

"I think I hate you, Mordain Asclepius," I admitted, no longer able to keep my contempt bottled up for Aurora's sake. "Kezess set out to repeat his swath of endless death. He repeated his actions that led to the deaths of the djinn you claim to have cared for. And I can't fathom why you would just sit aside. Watch with your all-knowing gaze."

The Lost Prince was silent as my anger radiated through the air, eddies of intent carrying my rage.

"Because it would have stopped with only the elves, Toren Asclepius," Mordain said quietly. His voice was infuriatingly patient, the manner of his speech making me feel like a child in a conversation with an adult. "You think like a human with a hundred years ahead of him, not thousands. If I were to confront Aldir Thyestes as he tried his World Eater Technique… There would be a reprisal. Reprisal that would not stop with the elves, would not stop with the humans, and would not stop with the dwarves. That is what Kezess has become."

I laughed bitterly. Such a utilitarian way to look at countless lives from the leader of a race that could never truly die.

"If there is a chance of life, Mordain," I said, not looking at him, "then I will take it. Even if it's hard. Even if it means facing my inner Kezess and Agrona. Because I'm not willing to let the High Sovereign have his way with those I love. I have this power for a reason. I have my knowledge of this world's future for a reason."

I turned back to him, clenching my fist as I stared up at him with resolve. "Tell me how many futures you saw where this talk did anything to dissuade me from my course."

Mordain met my eyes, and in them, I found my answer.

There were none.