====== The Blak Dyr Saga ======
 
===== Part 1 =====

It was a surprise, though not an altogether mind reeling one. I had long suspected my body host to more than one being, both by the accounts of those that had encountered it and by study of my own person—but I had not counted on….whatever this person was. I expected a beast, a parasite, some great creature which had come to my unknowing and unlucky body for an endless meal. I thought myself a weak meal to something beyond the comprehension of men and fearsome enough to shake cities. Instead what I found at this shattered edge of my mind was not some snarling or imposing creature, but instead an irritatingly comfortable looking woman.

Or perhaps comfortable was the wrong word. Nestled upon a throne of crystal as she was, with one hand upon her cheek and staring down at my approach sleepily and unhappily, one might think me the intruder disturbing her nap. She was quite beautiful besides—a lalafell and clad head to toe in expensive looking silks, jewels, and even some ornate looking crown. Her eyes are what caught my attention more than anything else, however. They were a singularly sheened over with a glowing deep blue. It was controlled, and steady. Seeing her sitting there, fairly smug and comfortable, something rare stirred in my chest. I did not know this person, and I had no reason to suspect that I should immediately attack, and yet…my heart knew from the first. I hated this person. My mind shook as I forced myself not to lunge at her throat and tear it from her lazing body.

I could not rightly tell if she could read my mind or simply noticed my restraint, but a cold smile spread across her lips, bringing an icy chill to the air that was warmed only by my reactive and instinctive rage. I stepped across the threshold of blank white I understood was my mind into the stormy black, half expecting to fall, but found the ground in this broken nothingness just as solid as everything else. I could not help myself; I was compelled to harm her. But it was not to be. The moment I stepped beyond the bounds of my mind, I did not fall, but the chain I had followed to this place sprang to life, wrapping around my person and forcing me onto my knees. A prisoner in my own mind. How cute.

At some point as I mused about my current predicament, the smug woman deigned to leave her throne, walking beside me and drawing a finger across my cheek. Her hands were colder than her smile, and her following words into my ear felt as a blizzard:

“So, you finally came.

I wanted to scream, to bite, to tear this woman to pieces—but that would get me nowhere. Despite this place being MY mind, she was somehow in control. That was when I knew for sure. She was the architect of my inability, the cause for my weakness and the hand that kept the lock that was my seal securely fashioned. And even now I was too weak to face her. She leaned over my shoulder, pulling me into an admittedly loose hug, but all the same it felt as a noose upon my neck.

“We are almost out of time. I’ve been watching. They think they can save you, but they are throwing theoretical solutions to a problem that I made impossible for anyone else to solve from the first.” She circled around me again before calmly sitting on her throne once more, leaning forward to look down at me. I hated that she could look down at me.

“If you don’t want to die boy,” she began, “You will need to repair the damage yourself. But there is an issue. You cannot repair what you do not know to have lost. Souls are not simply piecemeal that can be stitched together with missing parts. It is history, power—essence. That is why you and yours can never hope to unravel that which binds you, because you do not have a basic understanding of the principles behind that which composes that seal.”

She smiled and leaned back before pointing her thumb at her puffed out chest. “I am your seal boy. And you cannot hope to understand me because none of you even know the slightest bit about me. And in my boundless genius, I made certain my seal was inextricably linked to your soul, meaning you could not brute force it either. I must say, even now when I consider the circumstances, while not my absolute best work, it is the work I am most proud of.” She blinked before turning her gaze towards my forehead. “What’s wrong boy? Forgot your oath to me already?”

I did not know what she was speaking about, and to be frank, I did not care either. Every breath she took, every word she said was inexplicably an insult of the highest order. Every part of my body demanded I kill her, but the one thing that kept me from giving in to my impulses was how foreign this hatred felt. Why was she the object of such blind rage? Surely, she has earned it admitting to being my seal, but it started before she even spoke. What was this burning that threatened to sear out of my chest?

“Ah,” She said in an oddly strange monotone, “I get it. You still don’t remember the other bits. Because of me. I actually forgot that. It’s been years to be fair.” She snapped her fingers, and like a switch being flipped my mind suddenly felt like it was bursting open. Memories that were not my own flooded my mind. Too quick to process, too much to properly sift through, but I did catch what mattered. The ending. It was me, not unlike I am now, chained to the floor on my knees while she sat over me in a throne. The words I screamed at her as I sunk into the floor rang clearly in my ears as if I were saying them myself. “Who are you to decide what I can or can’t do, or whether or not something is best for me!? I want to decide for myself how I die, and who I remember. You can try to lock me away all you want, but I will get out. Don’t ever forget that I WILL get out. And when I do, I’m going to kill you for taking everything from me. One day, on my own strength, I WILL be free.”

There it was. My reason to hate. The chains covering my body melted into nothing, and I could feel the tears from an as of yet unknown longing stringing down my cheeks. I reached out and finally—after all these long years—finally, I clenched my ready hand around her throat. It was pure bliss given form, a beautiful and poetic tapestry of vengeance and justice through time and memory…but then I stopped. The full weight of her words finally dawned on me, and even as she failed to resist me physically, we both know that she had already dealt the winning blow long before returning my fragmented memories to me. Her soul and mine were bound. Even if I destroy her here and now, I would be destroyed in turn. And while that felt satisfactory enough in it’s own right, I could not help but remember that the reason I was even here at all was due to those who wished to save me. This act of indulgence would bring me final and satisfactory bliss, but…somehow, there are still those that would grieve at my passing. And it was just enough to make me give up the ecstasy of seeing my vengeance fulfilled.

It took every ounce of my willpower, but I released the harpy from my grip, and crossed my arms as tightly as I could (mainly to prevent myself from strangling her all over again). “Hm, I see. Well I guess you really do care about your children after all, hm? Does my heart glad. How about we move on to the better bits then?” She rubbed at her throat as she spoke, laughing a hollow laugh. Despite my burning hatred freeing me from much of my compassion, something in her expression made me feel….like I had done something I would regret. Pushing that feeling down, all her words could bring out of me were a raised brow and a turned head.

“You want to repair your soul, yes? Only I can do it proper. I can make you whole, boy. But there are a number of obstacles in the way.” She smiled a toothy smile, revealing a row of sharp teeth that glinted ever so slightly. “But you WILL be stronger. Look forward to it.”

//Part 1 end
//

===== Part 2 =====

The witch had mentioned that there were a number of obstacles in the way, keeping me from repairing my soul, but failed to mention specifically what was getting in my way, what obstacles I needed to break through. The cost of destroying the barriers to my restoration. It was an end that would come to bite me harder than any wound I had received. A victory so hollow and brittle that it would shatter at the slightest nudge.

“To start,” the witch began, “You must be rid of that toy you have grown so fond of that I would dare call it your safety blanket.” She snapped her fingers, and while my mind was still searching to find the meaning to her blatantly antagonistic words, the answer was torn out of me. She had severed my connection to the core of my grimoire. A feat which should be impossible, and she did it without so much as a second thought or hint of effort. Even worse, I could not even refute her words now, as the feeling of emptiness and helplessness that washed over me as I realized the grimoire was no longer (and perhaps never was) my own to command as I pleased was well and truly cold. I shook off the feeling and did my best to keep my face calm and collected. I would never say the words outright, as it would count as a loss of self-control on my part, but this woman was well and truly a personification of the term “a raging bitch.”

Almost as if she had heard my thoughts, she smirked at me, prompting me to finally speak to her, as nothing else of significance had occurred. “So, you took my grimoire, witch. You’ve demonstrated your power over me quite thoroughly enough. If you are done basking in the moment, let us move on to the next step.” She stood from her throne again, bending over to bring her face close to my own. Her features were even clearer now, and along with their definition my desire to rip her to pieces was rekindled. “We have already started boy,” she said with dry chuckle, waving her hand to bring my attention away from her to our surroundings. We were no longer in the white expanse of my mind, or the shattered nothingness where the damage became apparent, but nearby a campfire with two individuals sleeping idly.

“People underestimate the importance of memory in the soul. The parts of you that are missing cannot be recovered without the memories that fill the gaps. That is where the root of the corruption started—as I intended. But if we intend to undo all of that, your memory must needs be restored in full.” She turned and grabbed my cheeks with one hand, looking at me sternly and repeated her words. “In full, boy. So we will work our way back. Every crack in your memory has a nexus point. Think of them as the anchor for the rest of your memories to follow. You have memories now, but they are naught more than fragments, yes? The haze over those memories will become clearer as we go.”

Something about all of this did not smell right. Not just that she saw fit to give me her assistance when she admitted herself that she was the creator of this problem, but also the ambiguity that was just barely detectable in almost all of the little snippets of information that she saw fit to grace me with. In an ironic sense, I realized how helpless and frustrated I made those I’ve used this very tactic on feel when I employed this. The dawning horror at knowing there is more to the picture than was being presented to you, and yet also being unable to completely decipher exactly what that something was. Even worse was the added dread that I usually employed this tactic when I wanted to make sure that the outcome, I desired MUST me become apparent only after it was too late to stop it. Only after the last cog in my wheels had fallen into place and resistance was not only futile, but a boon to my plans. This woman—this damnable harpy—had me completely at her mercy, and even if I were to inquire, she likely already had a carefully guided response to teach me just enough to keep me just short of divining her true intentions. But in this very game she had made a mistake. By doing this, she had of course demonstrated that she was absolutely not someone I should trust. She was a snake, waiting for the perfect moment to coil herself around me. It was to be a battle then. Very well.

I brought my gaze back to the two figures at the campfire. One was a tuft of long dust covered hair, not unlike my own. I recognized this individual as myself. Some part of me was admittedly disgusted with the calm nature of my sleeping face; lying there as if there were not a care in the world. That was of course until I saw that clutched in my hands were two battle weary blades. Nestling her chin atop my sleeping head in rest was the woman I recognized from my nightmares. My teacher—the woman who made me into the battle-hardened warrior that could survive the trials and agonies that the years after this moment would surely bring. Scarlet hair that seemed to shine even in this darkness, and skin pale enough to blend into snow. How strange it felt, to behold her like this. In my nightmares, the woman always seemed mad and upset with my lack of strength. It was a countenance that hounded me constantly even during my waking hours, demanding I grow stronger. Even with her spear resting at her shoulder, the way she hugged me in her sleep did not seem like that of a madwoman, but that of a protector. That was when the memories of this night resurfaced.

This was the night before the final battle I was to have with my mentor at my side. The following morning, the woman who had been hounding me all these years relentlessly would turn this dry and still desert into a field of cold snow. It would be the two of us against her army of mages and machines. My teacher would hold them off well—a singularity all unto herself that crushed any and all opposition would need more than that to end her—but I was another story. It was in this moment, as I stared at myself calmly sleeping that my hatred for my own weakness was more palpable than ever. For it was not battle that saw my mentor to her untimely end, but my inability to match her. Against an army, I quickly began to fall. That was when she, in her final act of defiance used a technique I had never seen her use. It was the feeling one gets when they know something awful was about to happen, seeing her blazing form sear and pierce through the army like a beacon leading my way to the true enemy. The last I saw of her, and the path I followed to get to my true enemy. A woman with a long head of hair so light blue it was nearly white and sitting upon a familiar looking throne. In my despair and rage, I summoned strength that I should have been able to find before losing someone important to me….and then the memory ended.

I did not need to see her or even sense her to know she was there. I thrust my hand forward and grabbed for the throat of my captor, my mind still reeling with the series of emotions and old memories that stung as if brand new. “Who was that!?” I demanded, so desperate for answers I nearly forgot that this creature could not be trusted. She gave me another hollow smile and yet another damned dry laugh in response, patting my hand gently. I grasped her throat tightly enough to rob anyone of their ability to breathe, but when she spoke to me one might instead think I were only posturing. She did not care at all, waving her hand as the world and view changed around us. “That was the end of the memory boy,” she said as the scenery settled again, now showing me a village. I was alone this time, and even though my legs were unmoving the scene followed my younger self as if to follow the scene. I was wearing the goggles my mentor had created for me to obscure my eyes, and while she was off on her own business, I was to scout the village for any potential weaknesses. I came across a dunesfolk woman with an eyepatch and a large scar running down her face. She trembled at my approach, but showing my concern for her condition, her face relaxed. She fed me and looked at the cracked crystal on my forehead. She was a nice woman, and while a bit more wary than most kind people, made me feel truly welcome. And then I remembered the rest of the memory. This was to be the third time I ran into the enemy that would later rob me of my mentor. But she was not here this time. The village would be encased over in snow, and like my later memory, a great many mages would descend upon the village, looking for me. This kind older woman, with clear horror in her eye, bade me stay within her hovel while she alone went to face them. Just before she left, I spied a crystal in her forehead. She fought them off alone with a great axe in hand, and even as her body was covered with wounds and she was surely going to fall, she turned her body into a great mass of water and pushed them all out of the village. It was a feat of skill and strength that both baffled and intrigued me, but as she returned, I soon learned why. The crystal in her forehead was cracked, and far more so than the wounds I watched her endure, this tired and broken form she returned to being a much more a grim telling of her impending fate than anything else. She begged me to forgive her, and with the last of her strength, she teleported with me to a haven she attuned herself to many malms away from the village. I watched her fade to nothing and swore to not let her sacrifice be in vain.

When the memory ended with yet another example of my failures, I began to suspect what this woman was going for. “All of these anchor points have something to do with my failures, do they? If you are trying to author a change of heart, you will find you have done little to sway me. If anything, this lack of strength is only reinforcement that I must be stronger. I have been too weak all of my life, and it seems everyone else has paid for it repeatedly.” At my declaration, she….well she did not laugh, but rather reared her head back in the mimicry of the action. In her sadistic features, some part of me—and a very miniscule part at that—thought it spied the hint of sadness in her eyes. “If that were my aim boy, I would not bother showing you anything at all. Do not forget you cannot finish this without my help.”

She waved her hand yet again, and again we flew through time to the next memory. In truth, I wanted to scream. To run from more than this. I would not let it show on my face, but seeing that I have always been so weak and pathetic did naught but pain me. Was I always so wretched? Always some hapless fool stumbling from one benefactor to the next? And why was I and I alone always the one to walk away in the end?

I found my answers as the scene formed around us. A chill so potent that I could feel a wave of nausea washing over me prickled at me from every direction. This time, I was not a spectator to a scene unfolding, but viewing the scene from someone’s point of view. The world was darkness, despair, and without meaning. I had lost my children. My son and daughter were abducted. My plans to change this kingdom—this wretched corpse of what was once a bastion of free will were all but rendered meaningless. I’d lost so much in my ascension. My husband was dead. My children taken either by conspiracy or ill luck, and though I have fought it for long, the influence of the mother crystal was beginning to finally win over me.

Intruders had infiltrated the palace and attacked—but I cared not. This rotten kingdom could burn for all it mattered to me. Naught but destruction would change anything. I yearned for my pain to end. Then it was granted, a challenge was issued, but these would be usurpers were far too weak—FAR too inconsequential. Until they were not. One of them had true potential. She linked herself to everyone else in the throne-room—everyone save myself, safeguarded as I was. “Very well,” I thought to myself with a kind of sick satisfaction, like a long stretch after a long time of remaining immobile, but to destroy something. I raised my hand as my vision focused on the aether threatening my rule and composed a special spell just for her. My specialty lightning, but I would mix poison into it. She would die in agony, and the would-be usurpers would lose their hope. Her sacrifice would be the fastest resolution to this dilemma. But was this my thought, or that of the crystal demanding I act as the perfect ruler? It mattered not.

But as I released the spell, a cry pierced the darkness that shrouded my mind. I blinked slowly and saw for the first time that these challengers were children. Only children, and as the ‘perfect ruler’ my first and immediate response was to utterly destroy them. But that was nothing compared to what I felt next. The cry had snapped me out of my reverie for a reason, and that was because it was particularly special. It was a cry I had only heard once before…from my son. He cradled the child I had sentenced to an agonizing end in his battered arms, while my daughter stood not far away, looking at the scene with growing frustration. It was only at this moment that the true gravity of what I had done dawned on me, but It was too late. When he was a babe, due to fear over the false prophecy forced unto him, my son was given two seals that appeared as red tattoos on his cheeks. But the fools that bound him did not take into account his growth, nor did they count on what was arguably the most important aspect of our people and culture: The loss of control of our emotions—and particularly those of us whom harbor catalyst crystals—lead to an uncontrolled and catastrophic channeling of aether. I could only hold my breath now and watch as my son went over the brink and lost himself to despair.

It was from this moment that my perspective shifted from the eyes and mind of this person, and back into my own body, cradling Dona in my arms as she fairly melted before my eyes. She placed the crudely made earrings I presented to her but two nights before into my hand, and with a final pained convulsion, evaporated before my eyes. I knew not what to do. I could not think of anything else. I pierced the earrings into my left ear and like a broken doll reached for her glasses as well. That was when an armored foot stepped on them, and my vision raised to behold the woman who would later become my savior in that village years later. She smiled down cruelly at me and swung her raised axe for my head, but…the pure rage that burst from me was unlike anything I had ever felt before. I could not dare to call it me that retaliated, but rather whatever was left of me in that moment. I tore her eye from her head, and in a burst of aether launched her from the glass ceiling of the throne room, screaming at her as she disappeared from view. It was as if all of my emotions were broadcasted to everyone in the room. The guards, the women singing whilst chained to the pillars—everyone would feel keenly the mistake they had made. And now it was time to pay. The room was blanketed in a burst of burning bodies and a cacophony of screams, but my vision—and hate—settled on the one person who had done all of this. The woman sitting on a crystalline throne and looking down at me with glowing blue eyes. More than anything or anyone else, she would suffer the same fate that she had so callously bestowed on Dona.

The memory faded again, and I fell to my knees, grasping my head from the pain and series of revelations that had just come one after the other. I knew what came after that. I would try unsuccessfully to kill my adversary as her best knights knocked me around like the weak child having a tantrum that I was, until she herself stepped in with a barrier to save me. She locked herself behind a barrier with me, and to sate my rage she allowed me to pierce my arm through her chest. But it would not help. I never felt better after. There is no memory after that—or rather nothing connecting events to one another, but I know how it ends. The floating kingdom was brought crashing into the bone-white sands by the tantrum of a child gone out of control, and days later sustained only by my vague hate and will to live, I would grab my mentor’s leg with broken fingers. It was only at this moment that the true irony of the memories I had so recently received from the blank points made themselves truly apparent. There was no revenge to carry out—I had already done it years ago! Yet what black humor this was, that the very object of my hatred was also the one who protected me from total annihilation!

I could not laugh at this. I would not. This was more than just some sick joke. It was as if some invisible hand had guided these events to happen, as if some disgusting hand had penned these events in their sequence play by horrendous play, and I was nothing more than the unwilling puppet on strings entertaining an invisible audience that laughed at my pain.

What other explanation could there be? For the one who I was staring at in contempt and hating as my manipulator all these years, was none other than my own mother. The family I was sure abandoned me long ago for my weakness and nothing else. And the great enemy that I would flee for years later was not some ghost spawned from the depths of some cold hell to punish me for my pathetically continued existence, but my own sister, maddened by the demon that destroyed the home she yearned to return to and the mother that was snatched away from her before her very eyes. Seeing things from my mother’s point of view, I was likely unintentionally given a clue to the arbiter behind these mysteries however, and how I might solve them. There was some prophecy involved. A false prophecy. I desired my restoration only at the whim of those that would despair at my passing before, but I found myself enkindled with a new passion for this boon. I would find those that visited this tragedy on my life before it even could begin, and I would very much enjoy destroying them. I looked at the witch—no, my mother who’s sadistic features now seemed to only be that of an old woman trying to guard her heart from the pain these revelations might bring, and nodded solemnly for her to continue.

//Part 2 end//

===== Part 2.5: Veldi’s melancholy =====

I’ve done this day after day after day. Wake up, have a smoke, down a drink or three to calm the voices, and see what needs doing. Who needs help? Who needs saving? Can I make a difference somewhere today? Will anything I do make this world any less shite? The answer to that last one is always no. How many moons has it been since I’ve become more and more like the man that forced his knowledge onto me? Every day I look at my reflection, and every day I notice that my gaze has become less and less hopeful. Was he right after all then? Was struggle ultimately meaningless and a waste? Or was it all carefully planned so that I would come to think this way? What am I even doing?

Imagine my surprise then, when a purple doppelganger and red of hair appeared behind me during this morning routine. Imagine my fury when I learned that this thing was the grimoire that had saved my life so long ago, and that its current appearance was to ease the transfer of ownership. It mimicked me so that entering me did not cause rejection. Which meant I was the new owner. I can at least say that for a fake, it’s reflexes were damn good. It dodged the bottle I threw well enough, and even dodged to bullet I shot immediately after. Interestingly, this damned thing seemed just as displeased as I was. But I sent it away anyway. This was surely naught more than another one of that godsdamned footstool’s newest plot to manipulate me. I would have none of it.

The days passed by after, but I had no way of knowing what happened. It was like my need to drown my thoughts in ale blurred all else into nothingness. I did not know where I was, or even who I was at some point. But it felt nice. All I had to do was let go.

I woke up in a small puddle of my own bile and slobber, unsure what brutal night’s drinking had seen me wander into this exceedingly brightly lit room, but even in the throbbing haze of my hangover I knew that had to be wrong. The walls were glowing with technology I have ever seen on certain occasions. The floor was metal as well; new and pristine if not for the colorful addition the contents of my stomach that were painting it over from my night’s restless thrashings ruining the perfect canvas. I liked that I had a hand in ruining something that was obviously made by that bastard. But more than anything, what convinced me this were not simply some fever dream was the humming. Ever since he deemed to turn my body into a living grimoire, I’ve always been sensitive to it. That flow of aether that always seems to be just out of reach everywhere, begging me to extend my grasp and take it. The hunger that caused the voices in my head to scream in unison. More than ever I could feel it in this room, pumping through the floor, the walls, the very ceiling—and all towards one point. Like my vision was led there, my eyes finally locked onto the center of the room, where a large tube glowed a bright light blue. And who should be inside but my so-called benefactor himself.

It took some doing, but eventually through my drunken stumbling I managed to lay my ands against it. Almost as if it were waiting, that grimoire now bearing my face walked around the tube, its face now painted over to match my own. So that was how I got here, was it? I reached into my coat and found that my gun was still there. The grimoire made no attempt to stop me, even when I pointed the barrel at the little pimple in his tube. It bothered me.

“Not going to stop me from killing your master? He is about to be a pretty little stain in a moment.” I do not know why I bothered asking it what it thought. Something was wrong in this picture. Why was I brought here at all? Surely my reaction would have been clear from the first? What trap could this possibly be? Whatever my racing thoughts, I had not expected it to bow it’s head to me. “YOU are my master now, not he,” it said with a bitterness I doubt it even knew was in it’s voice, “should you wish him death, I have no reason to stop you.”

It looked up at me, locking it’s eyes with my own. “But you do not wish to do this, do you? No…I’ve become part of you now. And I know it better than anyone else.” I did not want to hear the rest of this drivel, so I turned and shot the imposter in the face. But the voice would not stop. It was in my head now. “You know what owning me means, and that is what frustrates you. You know owning me means that he is more than likely going to die here no matter what you do. You know that it means he is passing on his work and his will to you. All your talk of hating him and wanting him dead is just that. Talk. Meaningless noise. The fact of the matter is that he’s given you plenty of chances to kill him should you truly wish it, and every single time you found some method to get in your own way. But now it is impossible, isn’t it? Accept the truth.”

I could scream, but this thing was in my head. It knew. And he had known as well, this entire time. My hate has been nothing more than air, and my so-called heroic pursuits simply distractions from the truth I have been actively avoided admitting for so long now. There was nothing I could do that would matter. There is no good that will last for an eternity, and in the end no matter what I truly wished for…We cannot escape that THING after we die.

I pushed my hair from my face and looked at him. Even asleep, he looked tired and like he was plotting several people’s misfortune. I pointed the gun he made for me at the tube. There was no question that this aether was sustaining him while he slowly found himself dragged closer and closer to death. Seemed that with or without me he was going to die. I could feel it, the aether that was him was becoming smaller and smaller. He was fading away. But either way, at this moment whether or not he died or continued to live was something that would happen at my whim. At MY whim.

===== Part 3 =====

In a way, losing your enemies leaves you empty. That was something my teacher taught me many years ago, but only now did I feel the true brunt of what she meant. Having an enemy fills you with a certain fire that acts as your motivator. With an enemy, you strive to be better, to outdo them, and to be the victor in the end. To have them writhing and helpless before you. But once you destroy your enemy or you disappear, what meaning is there in continuing to do what you did before? I noticed how quickly I jumped to pin my desire for an enemy to face onto another shadowless entity, but even I surely could not ignore that it was just a placeholder to fill the void that my mother had occupied but moments before. Better a faceless nothing than the guilt and misery that looking into that void would surely bring me. My weakness is more than a little nauseating.

I was still lost in my thoughts when I noticed that my mother had brought us to a pale desert. This was not a memory of mine, so how could it be related to restoring me? Apparently having sensed my train of thought, she waved her hand, and a group of lalafellin shadows appeared in front of us. “Long ago,” she began, “our distant ancestors wished for power. They begged the stars for a path to raise their art to greater heights. In response, their god responded.” A great light shining in the distance crashed into the sands, tinting them over with it’s pale blue glow. “It bade them eat crystals,” she said, an edge forming on her words, “and like fools, they obeyed.”

She stared at me in a way that made my body run cold. “Naturally, this killed off most of them. People were not meant to survive the immediate aetheric imbalance that was borne from consuming elementally aspected crystals, nor were our soft bodies meant to digest the literal rocks that they were told to eat. But through luck ill or good, some survived. Always enough to carry on to the next generation. And the next. And the next after that. Eventually, the thaumaturges became less like the weak mages that made up their first generation into something more monstrous. Children were born with crystals in their foreheads, and with them our eyes opened to new kinds of magic. Magic that only these children could perform. See, most believe that the forehead is the only part of us where the crystal manifests, but this was not true. Like little conduits, our bodies are filled with tiny crystals that spread throughout our entire body. The catch for this power was that the crystals were made up of our own aether—and connected directly to our very souls. These crystals brought us great power, but were also glaring weak spots to be exploited.”

She shook her head and the shadows faded away. “But that does not matter to you, does it? No, you want to know why I’m telling you this.” It was true. While interesting to hear the history behind my body, it did not serve to move towards restoring me. “I’m saying that our people were manipulated. Coerced into this way of life. There was indeed an enemy behind everything, and I tried to fight it. You and your sister were caught in it, and that ultimately is why you have gone through the misfortune that you have. It is not an excuse, but…” She bit her lip a bit. “It is at least an answer.”

She snapped her fingers, and the world faded back to black. “Seems we are just about out of time. A little longer now, and the process should be complete.” I could not help but raise my brow at her remark. Sure, I knew little of the intricacies behind this process than she did, but surely it could not be so simple as listening to her speak and show me things. Something was not adding up here. I was reminded of that sneaking feeling that one gets right before something particularly unpleasant happens, as someone who decided they know what is best for you better than you do coils their hand around you to push you from behind right before the jaws of some great horror snaps shut behind you. “What exactly have you done here?” I demanded, my rage and panic quickly building. I needed to know what she was attempting. “What have you thrust me into?”

“You cannot repair your soul without filling in the parts that are missing. But even if you can theoretically rebuild the framework of what was there, you cannot replace what was lost for nothing. There has to be an exchange boy.” She looked away, and slowly but surely I began putting the pieces together. It was so slight that I hardly took notice of it before, but we were rebuilding MY memories. Mine. So why then was it that during this reconstruction I witness my mother’s thoughts and memories as if they were my own? WHY was I shown that truth at such a critical moment if her words were to be believed? My mind lurched, and I cursed myself as I realized that I had already fallen into her trap. The purpose of this seal all along was not to keep me bound, it was for this very time—this very moment. The day I became so weakened that the only chance of recovery would be for me to cannibalize my own mother’s soul. The answer was always there from the first, but I stupidly ignored it. How is it she could reside so comfortably in my mind? How was it she could command the grimoire that was linked to MY aether to serve another? How could she, someone who was not me, and whom apparently did not spend a great deal of time with me ever find the ability or credence to claim she could repair the missing pieces of MY soul? Because I came from her. Because she was my progenitor. But as he said, something cannot simply come from nothing, there was a price to be paid. And she had intended to pay it all along.

“How could you dar—” I could not even find the strength to scream at her in anger, for the hypocrisy of my words caught deep in my throat and lodged there like a chunk of especially dry wood. For had I not attempted the very same thing she were doing here? Was it not my plan to bring my daughter into this world and shoulder the consequences and burden, then die on my own while she believed me uninterested and weak? Had it not been the very same hubris of believing I knew what would be best for her without uttering a word, leaving her blissfully unaware? It tasted so bitter, this realization that I must have gotten this characteristic from her in the first place. Screaming would not do here, nor would despairing. No, perhaps the answer to this would be tragedy would lie in taking a page from her granddaughter’s book. I could feel my forehead aether slowly but surely restoring, a grimly satisfying sensation as the parts of myself that felt so empty were becoming whole. This would not stand. I would never again suffer to have another sacrifice themselves for me.

“Silly boy,” my mother said, her previously regal and arrogant voice finally giving way to a tired whisper, “I’ve been able to hear your thoughts all along. You can’t save me—” I did not listen to her, searching through our memories to find an answer—any answer—to our predicament. And from the dawning horror on her face, I could see that she realized I found one. I found the way to save her from her noble sacrifice. I reached out with my hand, now finally able to feel the hand that had been trying repeatedly to break through and grasped it tightly. How ironic that I found the answer in my mother’s memories the way to save her from herself.

//To be concluded in Part 4
//

===== Part 4: =====

There was always something about this picture that did not quite fit. The missing part of the puzzle that I could not help but ponder on, even as I hastily sifted through my mother’s memories for a way to stop her martyrdom. Before we were even born, my mother was under an ever increasingly oppressive force that sought to suppress her will and turn her into a pure scion of it’s will. This….creature, if it would be called that, was present in her memories for years, always out of view, but nevertheless there. This thing pushed her into darkness, and the despair of losing her children only gave it more dominion over her. That is, until the night I broke the crystal. Although broken into shards, it could be argued that I somehow absorbed the lions share of the aether housed within that object—the crystal that was born from Abigor’s past, as they slowly amassed power and turned to crystal. So why then was it that along with my mother’s soul, I have not been affected by this mysterious will?

Thinking carefully, it makes no sense. It is simple to reason that this is the thing that fell from the sky—the so-called god that granted us revelation to devour crystals and die for generations on the hopes of the strongest surviving. How ironic, and how pathetic it was to realize that the god my ancestors so willingly gave allegiance to was simply a creature smart enough to convince others to make themselves into it’s food. Our power—and our legacy—founded on this thing’s insatiable appetite, and the desire for only the best morsels to feed upon. So then….where is it? It could not be mistaken that I was without a doubt the one who inherited most of the power, and my mother’s soul is forever beyond its reach housed in my flesh. But then it hit me with the force of a charging gobbue. In the most simple of terms, I was just not as appetizing a meal as the one who truly had the most potential in the room that night. Rather than fight over the scraps of my already shattered soul, it would be better to move on to the waiting and willing vessel whom everyone would agree was the true successor to the throne.

I felt it at the corner of my mind, like a single ice cube dropped down the back of one’s shirt. It was always there, trying to break through. I would let it. I pulled the hand that ceaselessly and tirelessly tried to break into my mind through the breach I allowed to form, and swallowed to prepare, trying to decide which face to wear. Should I be relieved? Happy? Or should I simply show the truth? She had somehow grown colder through the years, her eyes piercing me without a hint of surprise that made me even more unsure of my reckless decision. Without a doubt, this person was a source of both great happiness and sadness in deepest depths of my heart. I sighed and sat down on my mother’s throne as I layed eyes upon my older sister, Alinore.

Without a doubt, it was this person whom had singlehandedly been responsible for both my greatest joys and greatest pains in my life. It was she who saved me from being beaten and lost in confusion, she who took the time to speak with me—She who ignored all rumor and consequence to keep me by her side. It was also she who practiced her torturous magics on me, she who kept me isolated from everyone else, she whom used me as her tool, and she who was the reason I lost everything I’d gained for myself in her act of jealous retaliation. My prodigal sister. The prophesied hero, the would be savior, and ironically the root behind everything.

SHE was the missing link in all this. It never made since after all. Even if she hated me after the chaos I brought, anyone would normally believe I would be dead. There was no evidence of my survival either amongst the rubble and smashed corpses. So why then had my sister been so sure I survived? And even then, why would she then be single mindedly devoted to pursuing and destroying me? There were none who would defy her rule amongst the remnants of our people, and my head on a pike would not truly bring her more or less credence. Her energies would be better spent doing what she wished to, and the very thing we went there for that night: Taking the crown for her own. Why did she seek war instead of rebuilding her kingdom?

The answer was simple. She was influenced by that thing—the so-called god. I cursed myself, for even in my amnesiac state, I never stopped to consider the why of anything, only that it were happening to me. I should not have survived this long. Lost in my thoughts as I was, it was little wonder that my sister decided to speak first, reaching out with a cold hand to touch my cheek.

“You finally came back to me. I have missed you so.” I tried to keep my face blank as I spoke, but I already knew the futility of it. My crystal was nearly completely repaired now, and we could sense each other’s emotions through it. Or rather, I should be able to sense hers. Instead, the only thing I felt was cold. Not the passionate waves of emotion, but the chilling blade of it’s absence. Was this the creature or my sister who spoke words to me, I wonder? But I would get nowhere simply staring, I had a purpose for bringing her here. “I would bet that you have missed me. Still upset that I took your throne right from beneath your nose?”

In response, I felt a burning wave. Anger. There she was. I decided to push it further—I needed my sister, not her marionetted shadow. “All these years you have chased me—yes, my memory is returning now—and all these years you have failed. How it must burn you, to know that you are not only not the strongest, but that you could not even defeat me when at my weakest. Tell me sister, how many years have you spent fruitlessly trying to break through to my mind? How it must vex you, to know deep in that heart of yours that the throne was won by ME, and simply handed off to you. The shame….I think it suits you.”

A wave of rage burst from her now, even as her face remained calm and smiling (which was all the more chilling, honestly), and for the first time I could see it clearly. The soul of my sister raging behind the cracked façade of what she has become. My sister was indeed twisted, but she was not some soulless creature. How many people have had to suffer due to me? How many have paid the price for my weakness? With my mother’s memories, I grabbed at the phantom—the thing that had been acting as my sister—and pushed it through the rift and closed the breach. It could not be for long as it was linked to my sister, but it would be enough for now.

She looked at me in surprise, and I leaped from the throne, opening my arms. But I could not hug her. Did she even think me her brother? So instead, I kicked the still weakening visage of my mother at her feet. “This woman thinks she can sacrifice her life to save my own. You’ve wanted her all these years yes?” She looked down at our mother, and hugged her close, but that cold edge never left her eyes. “Yes, I did,” she replied, turning a glare towards me. “What is it you intend to do now? You cannot stop it from getting back through. I…I did not know it was there for years. But even when I realized it was too late. It is too strong.” She was not wrong, even now, I could feel the cracks forming on my mind. Keeping it out would be impossible soon. There was not enough time. I had so much I wished to say—so much I wished to….it did not matter now. The best gift I could give was a lie. Our empathic gift only allows us to read emotions, not thoughts. And I have had years to learn how to quiet my own.

I put on the most arrogant face I could manage, and sat back on the throne, crossing my legs and putting a hand to my cheek. “I’ve no more use for her. You can have her back. I have her memories, my memories, and I am restored. There is no room for useless husks in my flesh.” Before I even finished my words, I knew that I’d made a mistake. My sister was always the genius, and I the fool. She always led, while I was the one to follow. There was no way such a hastily and sloppily made excuse would fool her. The look on her face made me want to strike myself repeatedly for even imagining this ruse. For the second time ever, I saw tears form in my sister’s eyes. And even with all the convoluted nonsense that would sum up our relationship, seeing her look like that for even a moment felt like I was ripping my heart from my chest. But I could not stop now. There was no time to stop and explain everything calmly, so I just continued on like I did not notice.

“But you have something that I want, do you not? So I thought I would make the exchange to make you feel better about losing to me again. You have power, and I am to eat it.” She tried to raise her hand to grab me, but this was my mind. Even as I spoke to her, I was already preparing for the next step. She could no longer touch me. She could only scream. “You can’t handle it! You nearly killed yourself once already, you are not talented enough to—” I stood up and drowned out her words with the most evil laughter I could muster. The kind of laugh I imagine others think me capable of when they whisper about me behind my back. “You were just my fool all along! You forget a simple tantrum from me brought a kingdom to its knees! I am the beast your people tell stories of at night—the horror that commands an army of monsters, and the pinnacle of destructive magic!” It was not all lies. Even I found it a little funny how such a great kingdom thought it was a logical idea to have the power source keeping everything running should be out in the open if it was that easy to break. Even if it was protected, clearly that was not good enough.

I could not touch Alinore or my mother now, else I would risk undoing all of my work. They both looked at me with expressions that told me all I needed to know. My ruse was pathetically crafted, and easily seen through. But it was no matter. I continued my words while the cracks grew larger across my mind. This would not work unless I waited until the last possible moment—the moment where the damage caused by this thing and the repair initiated by my mother reached a critical state. “Never fear sister,” I spat out with a smug and toothy grin, “I know how much you hate losing. So by all means, if it burns you that much, I suppose you will have to find your way here. Should the day come when you find enough spine to come for your inevitable defeat, then…” It was nearly time. I had so much I wanted to say, but this was the best I could do for now. But I knew the truth. Long ago, my sadness had begun to leak out. They knew. They knew. They knew. And knowing that they knew finally forced the tears from my eyes. But I could not stop. I smiled as widely as I could, trying as hard as I could in vain to keep up the spectacle, and forced myself to say the words. “….On that day, I swear to bring you the peace you so desire.”

The cracks opened, and at that moment, I pushed Alinore and my mother from my mind. The presence flooded in from everywhere, and the sheer size of this creature made me question how I was even able to push this thing out at all. This was the creature that had so skillfully enslaved my people, and muddled the minds of my family. This insatiable, damnable thing. I had destroyed its vessel in my despair all those years ago and unbeknownst to me, absorbed most of it when my mother created the seal. Even in my sister’s superior body, it could not help but be attracted to the greater fragments of itself. This is what I was counting on. What I was waiting for. My mother had already started the repair that would consume her, it could not be stopped. The idea was sound enough. Her aether which was like half the blueprint for my own frequency would be subsumed by the aetheric foundations she filled in for me. The memories were like locks to hold the new bits of my soul into place as the missing pieces were glued in, so to speak. But now the fuel for that was gone, so naturally, the outcome would be my destruction, right?

Not with this thing. This creature somehow managed to copy the signatures of those it aimed to consume. It was like a parasite, becoming the creature it wished to inhabit before taking it over completely, leaving naught but a husk behind as it moved on to the next. But what about now? My soul is already in fragments, and I had increased the damage to hold this thing back, and my sister along with my mother were gone. It was just me and this thing now. There was none of my soul to consume, but this thing? This thing had generations of my ancestors to draw from, including my mother and sister. How poetic, that the creature which had fed off of us for so long, finally was getting a taste of it’s own treatment!

But there was much more than I anticipated. So much more. Even as I felt my body being repaired, even as I felt the seal fade to nothing, I could not help but feel I had made a grave error somewhere. It was only when it was too late to do anything about it that it hit me. I was protected from possession by my mother’s influence, but she was gone. And unlike the cases of my mother, sister, and ancestors, this was not a slow and steady transition. This was my soul readily consuming and fusing with this creature. Was I truly strong enough to fight it’s corrupting influence by myself? Everything is growing dark….

//At the same time, little Eligor’s daughter….//

The girl looked up from the floor, the little flaming creatures she made fading into nothing. An exceedingly tall woman clad head to toe in white bent down low to loom over her, smiling even though her entire head was covered. “What is wrong, dear?” The girl had grown used to the woman, being around her all the time, but the way she managed to loom over others at all times had always made the girl a bit uncomfortable. She did her best to ignore the woman and stood up, making sure she was not wrong. “….Grandmother is gone…” She sat on the floor without another word as if dumbfounded and then quite suddenly began crying.

//Many bells later…//

I awoke in the tank. It seems my worry about being moved in my sleep was meaningless. Although it was not necessary, I found the need to test this so-called restored body of mine, and burst from the container with a burst of aether. It was…simple. Had this been the power I always felt just beyond my reach all these years? Looking to my left, I saw the black and gooey remains of what could only be Eitr’s flesh. Which meant it was both given to and accepted by my apprentice. It could have been a real problem before, but simply feeling this strength now, I could tell what my mother declared was no exaggeration. Eitr, while powerful, was nothing more than a trinket now. I found a robe, and left the room to find a mirror. Using my hand, I lifted the bangs from my eyes and looked at my forehead. There it was, my catalyst crystal full and restored to glory. Unconsciously, I had always been ashamed of the cracks and mystery surrounding this singular scar on my person, but now all the mysteries have been solved, and the cracks gone. I had never beheld it like this before even In my younger years. Untainted. Pristine.

My eyes found their way to my face, and it was there I noticed that the changes I had undergone were not entirely as expected. I seem to have grown a touch more pale, and my eyelids have darkened greatly as if covered with dark ash. “Perfection is defined by a ruler, not those beneath him.” The words left my lips, but felt foreign and alien. Why would I say that? My eyes went back up to my hair, and I noticed that my eyelids were not the only thing affected. My hair too appeared to have ashen locks peppered throughout them. I vaguely wondered if Onini would dislike the change, but again I felt words rise up in my throat unbidden. “She is lucky to have me.” I could feel myself changing by the moment, my thoughts slightly but steadily being altered somewhat. I remembered my mother’s head; a crown of jewels and extravagance adorned on the horns that had grown from her head. I focused my aether, using her memories as reference to access the controlled state higher mages in our clan could employ. My eyes smoldered, smoke billowed from my mouth, my sharp teeth lengthened into monstrous fangs, and to my surprise, six black arms composed of aether burst from my back. I see now. I had thought it the fault of my grimoire, but through the years I had managed to access pieces of this appearance. This was my true face, was it? My crystal had lengthened into horns, and two smaller ones sprouted from my head beside it. Similarly, I noticed crystals growing from various parts of my body, including the back of my hands, elbows, and even knees. I snapped my fingers, and with a bit of effort (I did not share my mother’s experience, nor Onini’s affinity for gold) I managed to form a bit of a crown, and placed it on my horns to mimic my mother. “A true crown.”

More words coming to my lips without having to think about it. This WAS me now. It was settled then. I had not won over the creature. But similarly, it had not completely defeated me either. Reckless gamble or no, It is obvious that whatever I did weakened it, and while I am obviously changing, it cannot do so continuously. There is still hope. But then that means I had made a greater mistake. I have created not only a threat for Onini, as this thing likely had access to my memories, but my daughter whom would look like the greatest feast of all for this thing. Even now, briefly in panic over the consequences of my actions, I can see it in the deepest, darkest part of my mind. If I were to consume her, how powerful would I become? She will squander her potential anyway, better for a true ruler to put it to use.

There was no way I would allow this to come to pass. This thing not only had the nerve to dare lay it’s phantom hands on my mother and sister, it dared to brazenly plant plans to devour my woman and my child in my mind? A grave mistake. It was a great disappointment to know my gamble was not entirely a win, but to see this thing so clearly trying to alter my mind, I became heartened once again.

I was an anomaly even to this creature. Men in my clan simply were not capable of grasping power. But luckily, my father suffered a mutation of sorts. I saw that despite her words, my sister remained entirely separate from that creature for all these years. Even if it was a fluke, both of us had some kind of resistance to this thing. It was all speculation of course: She could simply just be that terrifyingly talented. But for now, it was enough.

I looked in the mirror one last time and laughed. How funny was it that all these years, there were stories told about me? The great beast that ravaged a kingdom and destroyed it overnight. The calamity that was born for naught more than to kill and destroy. I was branded a traitor and criminal simply for being born on the wrong day, and treated like the disease that must be burned out. But all along, it was not me, but their very castle that preyed upon them. The very foundations they built their home around was naught more than a depressingly horrid lie. But now I could feel this…thing. Writhing. Trying to gain control. All these years later, and finally the thing they feared has become true.

**I have become the beast**

**Blak Dyr: End**
----
[[Start|Home]] --> [[Character Profiles and Collections|Character Index]] --> [[Eligor]] --- [[Veldi]] --- [[Brainbugs]]