The Butterfly Effect

The cave they were looking for was actually pretty close to where the Minotaur had been. It wasn’t really clear if it was something that appeared after defeating it or if it had always been there; on one hand, it looked pretty obvious, but on the other, Dimas couldn’t recall seeing it before. He simply decided it was the former to save him the time of having to think about what it was.

Each of the three pools had a dim glow, bringing something of a sobering air into the room. They did, after all, tell of a person’s future; usually those were the types of things that everyone left up to the gods to decide. Of course, almost every time someone tried to play the role of a god in that regard, they nearly lost whatever sanity they had. It wasn’t like anyone tried to get themselves in a state many considered to be worse than death. But this wouldn’t bring the same effects, being created by a god himself and not a mere replica by mortal hands. The only thing they had to fear from it was the truth.

It was obvious how all of them cautiously got closer. They were all brought in by the mysterious aspect of it, the thought of being so close to something that could show them something no mortal would ever dream of doing… a curiosity that, they knew, could very easily turn into something dangerous.

The pools didn’t react at all to their presence, but after a minute a voice rang out similar to those of the memories’. It wasn’t any of the previous voices, though; it was almost like how the pastors would describe Vaso’s voice as they recalled the stories of their ancestors. Vaso founded Truth and Illusion magic—the future, one could say, was best spoken by him. Sokratas might stand for wisdom, but no one knew all the paths of mortals like Vaso did.

“Children always wander, looking to play in places they likely shouldn’t be. Eventually, however, they must all grow up. Some continue to play in the darkness, while others return and repent to the light… though it isn’t the only thing that can determine what happens to them in the end. The darkness has its own kind of success, after all, and some might become blinded by the light.

“One child turns away sooner than all the others. They grow to be successful, doing things that no one else can do. Pain only makes them grow stronger, loss builds upon their resolve to do better. They see the end of a conflict, the beginning of several others, and eventually the light that would solve the rest in their lifetime.

“Another will leave as soon as it’s apparent that the darkness holds no appeal any longer. They, too, do great things before joining Vriuh. Everything they have is ultimately given to those who they care about, to the very last minute when they die in the way they’d always feared.

“The third steps out just before it becomes too late. For all of their achievements, they’re seen as a role model; even those who would rather ignore them couldn’t help but acknowledge their efforts. They get to leave in all of these victories, never once questioned on the truth behind each of them.

“A fourth always teetered between light and dark. They honed their craft and mastered the roles they were supposed to fulfill. No one had a place to question their role. After witnessing a long chapter in history coming to a close, however, all the darkness finally caught up with them.

“Finally, the last child never quite left darkness to begin with. They loved the vigor of it all, which ultimately led to their demise. Eventually all that is left of them is lost to history, only tragedies remain of their memory.”

When it became apparent that the voice had finished, Lydia moaned. “That’s it? What about giving us gruesome details about how we die, or at least our love life? A traveling gypsy could tell me more interesting stuff than that!”

“Do you want to go insane?” Samone glared at her. “That’s exactly how those things happen. I’d say the less we know the better. Anything more and we waste whatever potential we might’ve had trying to prevent it.”

Everyone else gave their agreement, ultimately leaving Lydia as the only one who wasn’t satisfied with what they’d gotten.

……

The first thing Dimas did upon returning to the border was go to Zofie. None of the others minded; they knew how she was, so he didn’t even need to say much for them to agree to let him go. She noticed him before he even got to where she was, leaving whatever group she was talking to in order to greet him.

“Dimas! Finally you’re back. You know, I didn’t expect it would take three hours from the last update you sent. Nothing bad happened while you were there, right?” She circled around him with a worried frown.

“I told you all of that already,” he pointed out gently. “I’m fine, really! Not even a scratch.”

“And I don’t believe you,” she decided nonchalantly. “With the rowdy bunch you hang out with it looks nearly impossible for something not to happen. I just need to determine what that is.”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, I doubt he’d want to lie to you.” Kadol stalked up behind Zofie, giving the prince a welcoming glance. Any fragment of a smile would’ve just been unsettling. “It’s reassuring to see you back, Dimas.”

Zofie still wasn’t ready for his company yet. “Kadol, go away.”

“Unfortunately I cannot,” he replied casually with a short bow. “Lord David is still waiting for you, and I believe Lord Rok is getting ready to leave. It will be best if you see them both before they go. Not to mention I’m sure King Casper would like to speak with you again, given the way he’s talking to his wife.” He squinted across the field to where the Seothians were, and it was safe to assume he was glaring right at Casper and Minne.

“I can wait, I promise,” Dimas offered. Though he would never say it, he needed a bit of time to himself. If he’d said that to Zofie, she would’ve immediately assumed something was wrong and refuse to leave him alone. At least if she had other things to work on instead, she wouldn’t notice that he wasn’t there as much.

Thankfully Zofie let Kadol gesture her back into the group of bishops. After seeing that it was pretty unlikely she’d be able to randomly leave again, Dimas made his way to the Qizarn camp. It would be far from quiet, but he never liked the silence. The bustle could reassure him that everything was back to normal.

He basically explained what he’d already said in each of his letters (excluding his breakdown with Kiah) over dinner. It wasn’t just them, Thero, and Kadol; some of the bishops were still here, finding no reason to leave early when today was the last full day of the talks anyway. A few of them even looked concerned for him as he described it. After all, it wasn’t every day they could come across someone who’d seen a legend (and presumably killed it, for that matter, which even the real story’s hero didn’t do). It wasn’t like it was new, though. This wasn’t the first time they heard the things they did together, likely one of the reasons they only begrudgingly tolerated it.

It wasn’t until he went into detail about what happened at the pool did those expressions of mild concern and intrigue turn into something close to sheer confusion.

“You don’t even know which one was who?” Zofie frowned. “You’re one of five, after all. Some of them are rather concerning…”

“I suppose it all depends on what term of light and darkness Earth meant,” David mused. “It could refer to Danai and Eldrianna themselves, or their concepts, how familiar one is with the Commandments, or even simply their moral compass. Hard to tell, though.”

“I doubt it has to do with the Commandments,” Rok dismissed. “Unless they get a major change of heart between then and now, none of those Seothians have any kind of godly guidance. There’s Prince Dimas and maybe the goblin girl… but the rest of them have no reason to. Our truth means nothing to them.”

“Likely a general moral compass,” Kadol remarked. “You mentioned those friends of yours being… rather bold, correct, Prince Dimas? ‘Of all my days I have never seen a man foolish enough to hold his head so high, hoping to reach the heavens, acting like he viewed the world as a god as he walked the path of darkness.’ Those words of Vaso seem relevant enough in this context.”

“Well I think it’s safe to say that none of us actually thought of it that much…” Dimas admitted. “It’s not like it spelled out immediate doom for all of us. I’d rather have what we got than a detailed list of how we all died…”

“Vaso has a reason for only revealing as much as he did,” Zofie mumbled, more like she was trying to reassure herself of something. “In a few weeks we, as a nation, will raise up Earth. Perhaps then he will better enlighten us on if we should fear what we were told here…”