1 Zenozarax : Mezbohan

01.10.2022

Do you have a moment?

Zenozarax groaned lightly as he pushed himself up from his hunched position, glancing over his shoulder with an amiable smile that not even a blind person would mistake as genuine.

For all intents and purposes he was idling right at this moment while half heartedly analysing some flight pattern of an eagle wing in low altitude on a high gravity planet (busy work that’s all that was). And he was bored. Some wizards with more attitude than brains would claim that wizards couldn’t get bored. Which was only partly true, provided a task they actually enjoyed doing wizard usually had no problem doing it for a very, very long time without ever tiring of it — but this pointless nonsense wasn’t it. At least not here. Not now.

So he welcomed the interruption, not so much the interrupter.

For you, Yoctotyr? Always.

As I understand it, you’re currently in a phase of …change, Yoctotyr said as he walked into the workshop, only for a moment eying the bare skeleton of the eagle suspended in midair above Zenozarax’ consoles.

Yoctotyr looked aloof as ever. The bright lights of the surrounding magic and machinery reflected dazzlingly in the tasteful golden ornaments draping his white and black robe. It was a good look on him, Zenozarax would admit that any time. Yoctotyr had a very regal and elegant taste of style. One of the few things he would say he liked about him. He’d allow him to outdress him — at least this one time. But only because Zenozarax didn’t feel like making an effort in that regard since his return to Mezchinhar. This place really had its own way to suck the joy out of the simplest things.

What’s it to you? Finally Zenozarax turned around fully on the hovering stool, but immediately leaned back on one elbow placed on the workcounter so as to not appear too curious. Yoctotyr wasn’t one to gloat, even towards him, and so Zenozarax doubted he was only here to belittle the fact that Zenozarax had once more thrown his purpose out into hell. No, Yoctotyr had a good reason to be here, and Zenozarax was intrigued to learn what it was.

Have you heard about the Trigamena Cluster?

Nope, Zenozarax said freely. There were so many clusters containing so many galaxies and worlds — as long as one wasn’t directly involved in them it was pointless to write all of them to memory. Yoctotyr nodded, he had expected nothing else.

It’s a very young cluster. The Timetravelers have found many new systems, a few living planets as well. One of them is still very early in its development, but there are already primitive humans. If the Prospectors are correct it is in fact another earth.

Neat, Zenozarax said, raising his brows and leaning back demonstratively even more. He didn’t say it directly but every aspect of his expression and posture clearly said: Get to the point.

I’ve been chosen for the position of Custodian for this Earth, Yoctotyr said, perfectly passionless, but Zenozarax knew him well enough to see the hint of pride in his posture. He wore it well, and it was appropriate. It was a very prestigious purpose.

Congratulations, Zenozarax noted dryly. He also doubted Yoctotyr was here to just boast about that. He wasn’t like that either.

And I would like you to come with me.

Zenozarax’ arm almost slipped from the counter with him following. What? Why? He frowned, not in anger, but utter bewilderment.

I’m to find and assign the Master Controller for this Earth. And since you are currently purposeless, I think it would be a good purpose for you.

I don’t need your charity. Zenozarax sat up properly again, a snarl on his face.

I assure you, Zenozarax, it is not charity. You are easily the most exhausting wizard I know. Doing you a favour couldn’t be further away from my intentions.

I’m touched. That means a lot to me, you know.

Courtly Yoctotyr ignored the remark. But you’re also a very industrious wizard, and I know what you’re capable of. You’re a problem solver. And it wouldn’t matter if you were to decide, a pulse from now, that this purpose won’t satisfy whatever it is you’re looking for either. Help me build our presence in that new system. After that, you can get back to…  whatever it is you think you need to do, Yoctotyr said, that calm look on his face did not waver even once. Others might be taken aback by the bluntness with which they talked, but it was the bedrock that made the strange but very stable relationship between them work. Both were absolutely honest to each other in their own way — and at least Zenozarax found a sense of appreciation in that. Yoctotyr didn’t want him because he liked him, nor to do him a favour. But he knew that Zenozarax was good at what he did. And Yoctotyr was goal oriented like that, not letting his personal feelings intervene.

They were very different in that regard. But he understood it. The position of Master Controller was a crucial position, one that required two wizards to work very closely together for a long time. While Yoctotyr surely wasn’t lacking suitable candidates, he had chosen Zenozarax because they already trusted each other. This form of nepotism was pretty much the norm in Mezchinhar, the real challenge was usually to court any influential wizard long enough to get there. Zenozarax was sure there would be plenty of wizards reasonably disgruntled, finding out that he hadn’t even tried. That was an enjoyable thought.

Zenozarax pondered over the offer for a moment. It was tempting. Very much so. It could be fun, building up the first towers, being instrumental in establishing their foothold there, no existing bounds and rules — just whatever Yoctotyr and he would come up with. Yeah, it would mean spending a lot of time with Yoctotyr, and he wasn’t yet sure who of them would be suffering more under that fact.

But really, he needed something propper to do soon or else the circle would crack that whip and he’d have to suck up to it. He was acutely aware that, while it surely was Yoctotyr’s idea in the first place, the first circle would already have given their approval of this new purpose. So it was a certain way to get out of here.

Alright, I’m in. Zenozarax stood up, resting his hands on his hips. When are we going?

Yoctotyr raised a brow, noticing how Zenozarax had referred to himself as the Part currently speaking to him. You?

Yeah of course. Don’t need to take up space here if I can be somewhere else, right? Also, Circle’s already cross with me, they have me doing this bullshit for now instead of anything productive and I think if I have to write one more report about operator errors I’m going to blow the whole place hell high myself.

Naturally, Yoctotyr ignored the volatile threats of violence he knew to be just posturing and returned the conversation to the topic at hand. I don’t think that is wise. We will be without any protection. It also would be beneficial to have another Part of you here for logistical purposes.

Zenozarax waved his hand in dismissal. Yoctoty hated it when he did that. Nah. I’m not going to build a third part just to play in the sandbox with you for a while. It would also defeat the point of getting out of Mezchinhar again.

Yoctotyr stayed quiet and finally his calm expression was replaced by a light frown. So Zenozarax asked,

Don’t tell me you already regret asking?

Yoctotyr raised a brow again, ignoring the question and accepting Zenozarax’ decision as he said. I’m finalising our timeline as we speak. I’ll get it to you as soon as I’m done.

Alright. Zenozarax nodded and Yoctotyr seemed about to leave before he halted, considering Zenozarax for a moment. Then he asked,

Will you tell me what happened on Lazu?

And Zenozarax felt his gut tighten up. Yoctotyr was watching him closely and he was sure the immediate discomfort the mere question evoked must have been clear on his face.

Any other wizard he would have immediately brushed off, but even with the animosity between them, Yoctoty was still one of the few wizards he trusted the most. One of those he knew since he himself had come into time. They were, if one were to apply human ideas of family, something like brothers. Because they had been created by the same wizard and almost been brought into time at the same time. They had studied together, they had fought, they had made up, and at some point figured out how they worked best together if they had to.

Bullshit. That’s what happened, Zenozarax grunted with an unhappy grimace on his face as he sat down again. He turned his stool halfway. Made some decisions that weren’t in the playbook. That ruffled some feathers.

Yoctotyr nodded. Zenozarax knew he had to be undoubtedly aware of the broad basics in the public record of what happened on that planet. More uncomfortable was the fact that he knew that Zenozarax had been directly involved. But Yoctotyr had a way to gather favour in high places. He was so wonderfully orderly. So it wasn’t too surprising that he knew. Zenozarax just wished he wouldn’t.

You should have never been there. Not as an Envoy. It’s not who you are, Yoctotyr said and Zenozarax’ frown only deepend. Your purpose is to fix problems. The moment you stop doing that, you’ll start creating them.

God damn. Zenozarax whistled through his teeth with a lopsided smirk. You’re on fire today. But that’s fine, get it out of your system.

Yoctotyr mildly cocked his head. I do implore you to take this seriously, Zenozarax.

No. That’s not what you really want to say. Go one, we both know what that is. Zenozarax waved his hand in a circular motion to tell Yoctotyr to cut the crap. It was a very human motion that was not really appreciated in Mezchinhar as it came off particularly aggressive to wizards, but Zenozarax didn’t care much about that.

I’m the Custodian of that planet now. It’s my responsibility. You may laugh and curse all you like, but understand that this is important to me and I trust you. But I need you to follow my orders — whatever you want to do down there, you have to run it by me first.

There it is. Zenozarax sighed dramatically, leaning back onto the counter with his elbow. Yoctotyr was for once painfully genuine and it made it much harder to pretend dismissiveness about it. I know. I know. Don’t worry, I’ll play ball. You’re the boss.

Yoctotyr nodded, satisfied with the answer but before he could finally leave, Zenozarax added,

But I won’t let you shackle me.

Zenozarax–

No. I mean it. Let me work, let me work with you, but don’t order me around like I’m just another tool at your disposal. I already got enough of that in my life.

Yoctotyr’s eyes narrowed slightly, considering, maybe really doubting his own decision already. But then he only said, I understand.

Thank you.

2 Redkevik : Mezaiz

08.10.2022

I can’t tell you what happened next, Redkevik answered calmly, firmly meeting the gaze of the selected assembly of Lord Wizards of the First Circle.

There was Lord Wizard Tarolazol, a polite and quiet wizard of far less importance than the two Wizard of the Lords besides him; Lord Wizard Heshiva, that ever gentle smile on his face barely betrayed by a slightest frown, and Lord Wizard Axofari, leading the inquisitive line of questions in an aggressive and uncooperative way. Judging the way his bushy brows were so intensely pulled together that they almost touched he appeared not too happy with Redkevik’s answer.

Redkevik however had nothing more to say, because he simply didn’t know any more of what had happened in Funnix. Most of them had their debriefing within the military circle Mezboahn already, only Redkevik had been summoned to Mezaiz, the First Circle. Most wizards rarely to never had a reason to be in Mezaiz, and if they had it was usually a cause for concern. Redkevik knew these three wizards before him well; they were usually the ones he spoke to when he was summoned here.

His eyewitness account was undoubtedly unique amongst the warriors lost in Funnix and hence of great value, however, even he could say no more than any of the others about why the dome of chaos had eventually exploded. Afterall, his Warrior, Fieldgeneral to Grandmaster Zenozarax, had been killed days before it had happened, when they had tried to attack the castle in the hope to destroy a theoretical channelling device.

This spell is not new, in fact it is ancient, Lord Wizard Heshiva finally said. He had been very quiet for the entirety of the interrogation and his words now surprised Lord Wizard Tarolazol. Axofari seemed unshaken, but his frown somehow managed to get even deeper. He had a very expressive face and Redkevik appreciated that about him. It was what he had always liked about Zenozarax as well. He didn’t feel like there was something he was missing with them.

Do you remember, Redkevik? Heshiva asked gently, his voice was but a soft hum as if not to frighten a scared child. Redkevik nodded.

I do. But I can’t and won’t make any assumptions about what it means. That is not my place.

Heshiva’s smile lingered with an ever so slight nod. That may be true, so let me be the one to do so. After a heavy pause he continued, There was only one wizard who ever knew this spell well enough to use it without tearing themselves apart. This wizard was Iosurt, the Trusted. We only saw it used in the Uprising and the Battle for Mezchinhar. When he died this knowledge died with him. Or so we thought.

Redkevik had fought in those battles too, but he had never had the misfortune of facing Iosurt directly - otherwise he probably wouldn’t be here today.

Now, if any chaos wizard were to get their hands on ancient knowledge passed down by the one wizard that had almost destroyed all of Order in the multiverse, it would be a problem. Even more troubling would be the idea that Iosurt could be still alive.

Iosurt had been dead almost as long as the lords had stopped speaking to them. He had been killed in the Battle for Mezchinhar by Lord Wizard Heshiva himself. But as it was with wizards, all of them were very wary to believe anyone’s dead until absolute proof was given. And neither the word nor memories of eye witnesses telling Iosurt had been defeated and disposed of was absolute proof. It was a mere observation, vulnerable to deception.

Lord Wizard Heshiva, could he have survived? Lord Wizard Tarolazol asked carefully, almost timmedly, he seemed restless. He was the only wizard of the four present that was just a little too young to have witnessed that madness himself.

Heshiva lowered his gaze for a moment, pondering over that question. Even if he were to be still alive, I do not believe this is his doing. As the eyewitnesses tell, this dome, it seemed … unsophisticated, rough, like a first test of this spell — Iosurt wouldn’t need to do this, Heshiva said somberly. And it was up to the others to believe it as well. Not all did.

If there is any chance, no matter how unlikely, any of the warriors were previously in contact with either Isourt or this Quadirymir, we have to find out. It is of utmost importance, Axofari declared firmly. Evaluate all of them!

Our warriors are dead, Redkevik said plainly.

The wizards then obviously!

Axofari, some of them are only of two, if we— Redkevik started but was curtly interrupted by Axofari again.

It is cruel and it is necessary, we are all aware of that, surely. But this is dangerous, we can not ignore it.

Redkevik mustered the Lord Wizard’s face and the frown on it, and wondered if there was something he didn’t see afterall. Was it fear maybe? He looked to Heshiva, if anyone would raise an objection it would be him, because he was kind, but once more that gentle smile on his face told Redkevik nothing. It may have been pity, sadness, or belittling — Redkevik couldn’t tell the difference.

But Heshiva stayed quiet. Redkevik considered another objection, but felt it to be pointless. It was a bad idea that would harm many wizards with memories they would not be allowed to forget. More than anything, Redkevik worried about Zenozarax. He had always been too strong willed, too stubborn too. Every evaluation was torture on a mind that would fight with claws and theeth to keep its own sense of individuality. Zenozarax had never taken it well, but until now his memories were unaware of it. But that would change now. Redkevik feared it would break that small slither of good will the Grand Wizard still held for the Circle.

They had to be aware of that as well. And it was a sacrifice they were willing to make, now that the knife was gone and Zenozarax had become easily replaceable again.

Grand Wizard Redkevik, we’ll have to ask for you to go through the evaluation too, Axofari finally added.

Redkevik, calmly, nodded ever so slightly.

Of course.

*

He was the last one.

Redkevik stepped into the small room, meeting Yettadeimos eyes head on. He wasn’t afraid, he knew what was coming. He was last because Yettadeimos would die after him. It was inevitable.

The Mindcrawler didn’t know it yet, but he would soon enough.

Yettadeimos realised his calm composure without any change in his face, he just ordered him to lay down on the examination table in the middle of the room.  

Redkevik did comply quietly.

They were alone. Almost completely. Only a very few selected wizards of the First Circle were still watching from the observation room. The normal mistrust.

I won’t fight you, he said quietly as Yettadeimos stepped closer, his eyes falling onto the strong restraints.

Yettadeimos acknowledged his words with a nod, but tightened them around Redkevik’s wrists and upper body as well as his legs nevertheless. Trust only went so far and Yettadeimos had no concept of that to begin with. There were only the rules he had been given.

For that very reason he had always felt comfortable around the Mindcrawler. There was no emotion in his face he could misread, the Mindcrawler only operated under the purpose he was given without prejudice. There was a clear and reliable order to this. It wasn’t enjoyable, but he found comfort in the routine.

The moment the restraints closed around his limbs he felt the strong disharmony vibrating through the veins of izthra in his body. He was so used to it that it was uncomfortable more than it was painful.

Then Yettadeimos raised his hands, one grasping his head, the other his hand, and Redkevik felt a moment of horrible tension caused by the fact that this was the first real touch he had felt since the last time they had met. But that moment faded and he met Yettadeimos’ eyes again. There was a brief moment of silence, as both took a breath, preparing for what was to come.

And then his mind cried out in agony as the other was suddenly crashing into his consciousness.

But he kept quiet and still, closing his glowing eyes.

He felt Yettadeimos, felt the chaos from inside him flooding the Mindcrawlers body and soul. If there was one.

Yettadeimos saw him, all of him, every time they had met, every time Redkevik had caused his death. And further, back when the lords had been still with them. When the multiverse had been different, when they had been different. The chaos inside of him was strong and ancient, it was his burden, his promise to never speak of. And now he shared it once more with the Mindcrawler.

And then, to Yettadeimos’ surprise which Redkevik could clearly feel through their connection, as the Mindcrawler looked at him, he looked back. Calmly, through the screaming pain in his mind, he examined Yettadeimos and all he had done. The suffering he had now caused all the wizards that had never returned from Funnix. He saw Fajathena beg in terror, Demitalek’s painfull acceptance. Saw how Zenozarax had fought him all the way, increasing the suffering a thousand fold by his own fear, pride and stubbornness. But he also saw Kazra and a heavy feeling took his heart as he saw so much more than he should know.

He felt like a thief, rummaging in the memories of strangers and friends alike. Though he was once more surprised how many thought of him as a friend more so than a distant acquaintance they didn’t really know.

Then it stopped.

Yettadeimos drew his hand back and for a moment they were quiet. The pain was gone and yet Redkevik longed for the Mindcrawler’s touch to return. Just to feel it for a few seconds longer. Not for the pain, but the mere physical closeness of another.

Yettadeimos now understood. But he also knew Redkevik had done no wrong.

But he was also made aware once more that chaos was as close to home as many of them suspected.

Because Redkevik was a chaos wizard — had been since the day he came into time under the allpresent gaze of the lords.

And Yettadeimos understood that the first circle knew, that Redkevik wasn’t the only one, and that he was allowed. That this had happened before.

Chaos was now in his own mind, and he would die for it and take this knowledge into the void with him. Then he was to be rebuilt. And one day they would inevitably meet again.

I’m sorry, Redkevik said quietly as Yettadeimos loosened the restraints and he sat up again.

There was just that perfectly neutral look on the Mindcrawler’s face. He held no resentment, no disgust, no anger or fear. He knew he would die and he did not care. Because he couldn’t.

3 Yettadeimos : Mezhestvo

15.10.2022

“You asked to see me, Soulturner?”

Exavidar raised up from their bend over position, staring into the pool of black swarming nanites pulsing with a gentle blue shine. The voice addressing them was cold and polite, but also distant and carrying a sense of unfamiliarity with it. The tone of voice directed at someone one had never talked to before.

It filled Exavidar with a heavy wave of compassion as they turned around.

Yettadeimos, the Mindcrawler as he was called, had entered the workshop, standing towering in front of the door frame, hands folded behind his back, respectfully hidden away from plain sight. His expression matched his voice, he didn’t even seem particularly curious as to why he was called here.

And it was their cue to do what they had done countless times before. And what they would need to do countless times more.

“Yetta,” Exavidar said softly with a fond smile on their face, “Yes, come sit. I wanted to talk to you.”

Yettadeimos did as he was told and took the free chair near the work counter. It helped since Exavidar now no longer had to look up to the towering wizard who stood over two heads taller than them.

For a moment they mustered the tall wizard. He looked better again, less exhausted, less battered by the actions of his own purpose. But of course he did look better - because the Yettadeimos sitting before him wasn’t the one Exavidar had seen last, not too long ago. The one who had known them.

“We use to spend some time together, you and me,” Exavidar explained.

“For what purpose?” Yettadeimos asked, seeming only slightly puzzled that this hadn’t been told to him yet.

“Company, mainly.” Exavidar smiled gently, knowing that Yettadeimos wouldn’t understand that yet, the slight frown in the wizard’s face was proof enough of that. And he never truly would. But he would get used to it. Then they said,

“What you do, Yetta, makes wizards afraid of you. You will be met with hate more than anything. You’re designed to be alone forever, and to not care about it either.”

Their words wouldn’t cause harm because Yettadeimos was incapable of being hurt by what they said. Yettadeimos knew merely the words, because the feelings of hate or loneliness, even hurt or boredom, would always be foreign to him. Both of them were in that regard the exact opposite of each other. Yettadeimos was a wizard in name more than in spirit. Made to not feel, not care, not value — with a mere functional sense of self more akin to that of a soldier. Build to be able to connect to another wizard without harming himself. Exavidar was different, they were meant to care, meant to feel, to show the greatest compassion towards their work: The creation and care of new wizards, parts and soldiers.

And it was this compassion that drew them to the Mindcrawler. It was the injustice and cold use of this wizard that sent shivers down their spine. And even though they knew their empathy was wasted — it never felt like that.  

“You don’t desire company, I know. But just know, whenever you may idle, you can come here.”

Yettadeimos nodded, though he probably still didn’t see why he would. Do I help you with your work? Briefly he looked at the motionless body on the worktable. Exavidar smiled softly as they followed his gaze. Like many of this circle it had been a while since they had been allowed to create a new wizard. The body on the table wasn’t a wizard, just a soldier. But the screens and panels gave away clearly that he was supposed to be more one day. As soon as they were allowed to make him whole.

It was in fact the same body Yettadeimos himself had brought back to them not too long ago. But of course, he didn’t remember that either.

You do assist me - occasionally. Not officially of course. But more often than not we just talk. The sense of slight confusion in Yettadeimos’ merciless face was precious and painful to Exavidar. I’d consider you something like a friend.

A friend who kept forgetting them.

Yettadeimos had just been awoken. He was a blank slate now, just a few ticks old. The wizard called Yettadeimos before him was dead.

“Do you know what happened?”

Yettadeimos was quiet for a moment, he was everytime when Exavidar asked this question. A brief consideration of what Exavidar had told him before, and if this was something he should be telling them. And he always came to the same conclusion. “The initiation report stated it was a corruption,” Yettadeimos answered calmly and Exavidar had expected that answer, it was all just part of slowly building rapport with the other.

The wizard that had been called Yettadeimos before, hadn’t broken down, he hadn’t malfunctioned, but he had been infected. He had connected with another wizard and his mind had been corrupted. He had been given that horrible curse - and it had ended his existence. Not because the Chaos had killed him - but because after he would have gotten all the information from the chaos wizard, after he had finished his purpose, he had been discontinued. Executed to wipe the trace of chaos from Mezchinhar again.

And then he had been rebuilt. Every memory lost. Who he had been before was gone to the void. A new existence now ticking along on a timer till he would be killed again. Because he was merely a tool to the First Circle’s will.

Exavidar walked over to the still sitting wizard.

He would always be alone. He would always be hated. For what he was built to do, for the only purpose he was intended to, for what he couldn’t feel. They had been through this countless times and yet Exavidar’s heart ached just the same every time.

Their hands trembled slightly, their breath shuddering, as they took one of Yettadeimos’ hands in theirs. The broad hand yet unmarked from the scars of forced magic that would inevitably burn through it. It was unfair.

“Why are you upset?” Yettadeimos suddenly asked, not out of worry, not out of care. Not even subjective curiosity really. But he was made to be able to pick up every slightest twitch of emotion, even though he didn’t understand them himself. And now he was given a fact that was missing a reason.

Exavidar just shook their head and forced themself to smile as they gave the large hand in theirs a light squeeze. It was reassuring to them more so than it would ever be to Yettadeimos.

“You wouldn’t understand it.”

I may not be able to feel, but I am perfectly capable of reason.

Exavidar chuckled, the forced smile turned genuine again as he reassuringly patted the large hand in his. Of course you are. And I’ll try to explain, but not now. Or else I might start to cry.

It didn’t make sense to Yettadeimos, that much was clear in his face, but ignoring that, Exavidar, while still holding his hand, stepped back and pulled Yettadeimos up from his sitting position (or at least, the tall wizard followed the suggestion to stand up, because even if Exavidar were to put all their strength to it they wouldn’t be able to forcefully move Yettadeimos even by an inch).

Do you need to be somewhere? Exavidar asked.

Not currently.

Good! I actually have something I want you to take a look at. Exavidar crossed the laboratory and led them both to the dead soldier on the examination table. You already looked at this one before, but he is very damaged. But I think I might have been able to reconstruct a few sections. It’s still a mess and I still can’t read it properly, but you might be able to make more sense of it now.

Yettadeimos nodded and Exavidar felt a sense of excitement. It was a long shot, but if it would work it would finally shed some light onto what really had happened at Funnix. And more importantly to them, what had happened to Ravalor.

*

Exavidar was shaking. Their throat was tight as they felt like being strangled - but it was nothing but their own emotions.

The lab was quiet, and in the quietness Yettadeimos had heard Exavidar’s shaken breath, the low sob of a tearless cry. But he stayed quiet.

I’m sorry, Exavidar whispered, their hands hard around the rim of the nanite pool. I just need a moment.

Come here. The deep rumble of Yettadeimos’ voice made Exavidar gasp breathlessly. They turned around, looking at the other wizard. And it was just more painful. Exavidar wished he hadn’t even come. Not now, not after what he had done to Ravalor. There shouldn’t be any anger directed at him, objectively they knew that better than anyone, but it turned out subjectively that was so very hard. Another dry sob escaped his throat.

Come, Yettadeimos repeated.

Exavidar’s steps were slow as they walked over to Yettadeimos. And as they reached them, and their heart felt like breaking looking at the Mindcrawler and remembering the terrified glow in the eyes of their own creation, they cried.

There were no tears. But they cried.

Can you explain it to me? Yettadeimos’ asked calmly.

Exavidar shook their head. They feared speaking out loud what broke their heart would make the pieces shatter just more painfully. Make the memories just more vivid. They were angry too, at themselfe, at that cursed wizard Zenozarax, even at Yettadeimos. But it paled against the pain.

They flinched when strong broad hands grasped them and Exavidar just let themself dragged onto the other wizard’s lap, and for a moment, they just curled up in his embrace, shaking, sobbing.

And Yettadeimos only held them. Because he understood that Exavidar was upset even though he would not be able to really understand why. He saw the cause and effect, but they never would compute the same result in his mind. But he still remembered, knowledge of other wizards in his mind, knowledge of emotions he didn’t possess, of the closeness and comfort that was so rare in Mezchinhar. Memories of Ravalor too. And so he only held them - because the memories of strangers suggested that was the right thing to do.

He didn’t deserve this, Exavidar whispered, barely calming down. He did nothing wrong. I told him it was a bad idea, why didn’t he listen?

Yettadeimos’ hand held his back, cradling them passionless against his massive frame.

He didn’t deserve it… they repeated, mumbling helplessly against the broad chest.

What do you need me to do?

The dark rumble vibrated below them. Another painful sting in their heart. Because Exavidar was angry at him — no — not actually angry, not even frustrated, or at least they knew they shouldn’t be. Objectively they knew that. But it felt so hard to remember that in this moment. After they had seen that sheer sense of terror, heard his pleading, the panic in the young voice that should not be faced with this cruelty.

I don’t know. I’m sorry, they whispered weakly. Just hold me, till I can remember not to hate you for what you had to do.

And Yettadeimos did. He did not feel but he understood. A logical calculation, variables that add up to a conclusion. Knowing that Exavidar was upset, knowing that they longed for comfort — but how his personal involvement in the cause for this upset played into it, how it would shape this desire, the feeling, the conflict they caused, he couldn’t begin to grasp. And so he had asked. And Exavidar had answered.

And curled up against the tall wizard, it was a feeling of helplessness as much as it felt safe. Desperation caused by injustice fought the comforting familiarity of a wizard he knew had no evil in him. Who just did what he was told.

4 Ravalor : Mezhestvo

22.10.2022

There was something almost ironic to the fact that Mezchinhar, the beacon of order shining over all the multiverse, would appear to any human and most other creatures of time as an utter and complete mess.

Every common sense of order present in the multiverse simply did not apply to Mezchinhar.

There wasn’t an order to space. At least not physical, as the individual circles were composed of nodes that more often than not held no close proximity to each other, because they needn’t to. Everything was connected by static portals and portpoints, and so nodes were constructed wherever there was enough space available.

Every actual physically drawn map of Mezchinhar would look like an absolute random collection of disconnected and unrelated rooms and areas. Humans usually referenced locations relative to other nearby places, Mezchinhar referenced them only by purpose.

There was no order in time. Things happened whenever an appropriate wizard was available to do it.

For the most part there wasn’t even an order to work. With the only exception being the soulturner in Mezhestvo who would work on one wizard at a time exclusively, work in Mezchinhar wasn’t designated to one singular wizard. Whoever was awake was given whatever task needed doing at the moment in accordance to their purpose.

What Ravalor had worked on before they went to sleep was by now finished by another wizard that picked up from where he had stopped. Once he would get to work himself he most likely would take over a task another wizard just had stopped on.

The Wizard had woken up before the Stargazer, which was normal. The Stargazer wasn’t sleeping well, though it wasn’t as bad as the crippling insomnia of the Hermit, but still, whenever the Wizard woke up and remembered the hours the Stargazer spend each sleep cycle awake and just losing himself in his own thoughts, he’d let him sleep a bit longer.

It gave him some time to do counsel with his other parts and ponder over this or that topic that kept either of them occupied currently. He was free to schedule his time however he liked as long as he didn’t disturb the running order of things. Which was the only rule that needed to be followed in Mezchinhar besides some general customs.

So for a while he just paid attention to his other parts and kept still so as to not wake the Stargazer prematurely.

The Warrior’s memories were calm and monotone. He was still maintaining the unicorns of his division and had been doing so since before the Wizard and Stargazer had gone to sleep. It was quiet work and he enjoyed doing it, so the Warrior merely acknowledged him awake but did not let his thoughts wander.

The Kingmaker had brought the Hermit some scrolls from the Galdaney Tower on Havari which he had found out about with some digging and the help of the Scyiers in Mezdovat.

The Hermit was by now as much a Theorist as he was a Watcher. He was a Watcher because that was the purpose Mezchinhar had assigned him. But in reality he was a Theorist because almost all of his time now was spent studying the lords magic, the hell dimensions and the mystery of the void.

His previous obsession with portals and dimensions had been split the moment the Kingmaker had first awoken. The Kingmaker had taken on that part of him and with the study and work already done by the Hermit had quickly become a very capable Planeswalker. Now the Hermit’s focus was exclusively on the lords and their artefacts.

And where the interest in portals had seemed useful, Ravalor did not know what practical use this current obsession could ever have. But the Wizard knew better as to think that too plainly, because he believed there was a reason for it. He just didn’t know what it was.

Nevertheless, the four scrolls the Kingmaker had brought the Hermit now just added to the chaos in the cave. Alone the act of putting them on the existing pile made the entire bunch collapse and the Hermit hurried to repile them.

It earned him an amused, though little sarcastic comment from the Kingmaker who then actually helped the Hermit. He even went out of his way to help him organise the table just a little bit — as good as possible. It wasn’t strictly necessary to make it look more orderly, the Hermit knew exactly where what was in his cave, no matter how messy it seemed, but generally Ravalor rather preferred things to look orderly too. But with the Kingmaker, who was bothered the least by a bit of mess around him, and the Hermit, who had become way to scattered as to care, the chances to make any noticeable difference were slim to none. But at least they tried.

The Wizard smiled lightly, but wished the Kingmaker would grant the same level of reluctant acceptance to the Stargazer. Applying a healthy sense of self-reflection, he had to acknowledge that the Kingmaker could be… a bit strenuous, his opinions the most biting and blunt. (At the thought he did earn himself an accordingly sarcastic comment from the Kingmaker as if to just confirm it). But while the Kingmaker actively ignored the Stargazer, he had always shown a clear sense of care for the Hermit. They squabbled, but they still worked together very well.

The Wizard was sure Exavidar would be able to explain it a bit better. When they had created the Kingmaker, Exavidar had told him they would help him compartmentalise some of the experiences he had so far. Ravalor hadn’t quite understood what they had meant then. The Kingmaker was a part of himself he sometimes liked the least in himself. But in a way it was also a very familiar part. A part that reminded him the most of Zenozarax.

He had accepted that, because in a way, Zenozarax was part of him and would always be. And paradoxically that made it easier to not think about Zenozarax too much anymore. Maybe that had been the point.

The Stargazer stirred beside him and slowly woke up. It had been a while since the Wizard himself had woken up and he was glad the Stargazer had gotten a little bit of proper sleep.

There was no fix schedule he had to adhere to, so it didn’t matter when he slept or worked. But given the fact that they both shared this two by three metres large room and that was all the space they had, they had to sync the time they slept. Because once the room’s layout was changed to the workstation the bed had to go to make room for it.

The amount of time they slept (or should be sleeping) wasn’t a fixed constant either. It could actually be calculated by the number of parts, the activity and intensity of their tasks and the amount and complexity of new memories formed, and so it was an amount that could vary widely from wizard to wizard. Some were fine with just two hours of sleep per cycle, others could come close to 20 after a high stress situation.

And since it was a variable that could and did change frequently, there wasn’t anything that could be classified as a generalised morning time where it was appropriate to wake up.

In Mezchinhar everything was always happening, and wizards just slept whenever they needed to. Only wizards frequently working together usually tried to sync up.

The Wizard wasn’t working with anyone besides the Stargazer — Ravalor preferred it this way. Because wizards could be uncomfortably nosy and if he was forced to interact with others they usually very quickly found out about his past. And without the necessary details and context it wasn’t a very flattering read (and he wasn’t sure it was even with context). He was tired of trying to explain himself and it was pointless most of the time either way.

He had come too close to chaos and survived, and that was cause for careful mistrust. That he had soon after failed the mandatory stability test to reach the rank of Provost three times made it even worse, casting doubt not only on his ability but the soundness of his mind as well. And his more or less broken state of self concerning the Stargazer wasn’t helping either.

And so he rather worked alone.

A slight shift in his memories tore him from his own thoughts as he now remembered himself, looking at himself from the Stargazer’s eyes and apologetically he sighed and looked at him.

The Stargazer was awake and had just opened his eyes, watching him quietly, following his thoughts. Maybe carefully listening for any hint of frustration with him.

But the Wizard didn’t blame the Stargazer.

Don’t you want to sleep a little longer? he asked gently.

No. I’m good, the Stargazer answered quietly as he sat up, even though he was still tired.

And so they finally got up and dressed.

Both wore the standardised black bodysuit commonly called plainly base layer to sleep. The fine weave of magical fabric was all the clothing that really was expected in Mezchinhar. In Mezhenxen it was actually pretty common to just wear the base layer and nothing else, but here in Mezhestvo the wizards usually prefered and expected robes. It could be classified as an expression of culture, he supposed.

Both of them got dressed with the only outfit either of them possessed. Since wizards didn’t sweat or grease up naturally, lacking any bacteria on their skin that could develop an odour, it was perfectly common to just wear one and the same thing for a very long time. Clothes usually only needed washing if they got dirty by outside influences, and unless one was working in heavy fabrication or the laboratories it was almost impossible to get dirty in Mezchinhar.

The Wizard wore a robe and cloak that was cut well in the fashion of Mezhestvo, but instead of the gold and white most common it was black with a blue cloak. He had tried a white one when he had started to work here, but had soon realised that besides not even wanting to fit in, he didn’t like the white on himself. If there was one lesson Zenozarax had tried to teach him that he still felt reasonably safe to apply, then it was to not worry too much about other people’s opinions about style and dress how one liked to dress.

Consequently, he did stand out amongst the wizards here but he didn’t mind that. He had also gotten perfectly used to people staring at them during his time with Zenozarax as well.

The Stargazer still wore the same outfit he had been wearing in Obermoor by the time he had broken down. There was something nostalgic about it, like a last grasp to who he used to be, the Engineer. Having chosen a less restricting and flexible outfit, the utility vest he wore to this day was still stuffed full with all kinds of tools and knick knacks, some still the very ones he had used back then. Sometimes the Wizard wondered if it might be counterproductive to hold onto it, even if it was just an outfit. But at his careful suggestion to request a new set of clothes from the weavers instead of renewing the old one the Stargazer had vehemently declined. And that had been that.

The Stargazer did not directly comment on these thoughts but the Wizard heard a distant sense of nostalgia in the memories of his equal. Thinking once more back to a life with purpose that was long gone.

He just attached the golden pauldrons to his shoulders that held the cloak as he sensed the Stargazer slipping away and — just in time he managed to turn around and catch his equal before he could have hit the ground.

This was an early one but not unusual. Careful he sat the Stargazer down against the wall. He shuddered slightly, because in his mind the Stargazer had legitimately just died. There was no discernible difference between the actual death of a part of him and the state the Stargazer was in now. At least none he could feel. The very observable difference was of course that no matter how it looked or felt, the Stargazer wasn’t actually dead and would wake up again. Carefully he took the Stargazer’s hand and let a low jolt of magic pulse through the dead body. But nothing happened and the wizard sighed. So he was really deep in it.

The Wizard stood up again and activated the panel next to the door. Quietly he watched the room light up as the magic it was constructed from activated and within moments realigned itself. The bed and covers disappeared, dissolving into a shower of light which then formed into a workbench and two stools, occupying the entire length of the small room. The small summoning circle connected with the system and lit up. The shelves above it were fixed, as they held his tools and some small parts too delicate for the summoning circle to produce on the spot. But with that he had everything he needed to do his work.

The Wizard had become a Soulturner by title alone, because he suspected after what had happened to the Stargazer he wouldn’t be building any actual wizard for the foreseeable eternity. Not while even the most accomplished and skillful Soulturners in Mezchinhar had to wait sometimes for iums to bring a completely new wizard into time. To be honest, he wasn’t even really interested in that.

He had started studying under Exavidar when Zenozarax first disappeared. Not without ulterior motives, as Exavidar had found out too late to stop him, but nevertheless, he was by title and purpose officially a Soulturner.

He had built the Stargazer himself, and against regulations concerning his inexperience; he had done so without Exavidars oversight. And when the Stargazer had broken down, it had not only tarnished his own reputation but Exavidar’s as well.

It had been a bitter wake up call that had come way too late, because it couldn’t be undone. And he had suspected Exavidar would no longer want to associate with him afterwards. But the Soulturner was gentle. There had been a sense of disappointment in the dark eyes, but they had given him an almost godlike sense of compassion. Maybe, Ravalor wondered, it was because Exavidar, more so than any other, knew exactly who he was. Maybe what he had done hadn’t been even surprising to them.

But sometimes he wondered if the Soulturner might be regretting having brought him into time. If they considered him a mistake they had made, and now had merely accepted it as something they couldn’t change anymore.

And he hated that he then thought about the Stargazer. He didn’t want him to remember these thoughts once he woke up, but there was no way around it.

 

The Kingmaker finished helping the Hermit, only briefly the topic of the war was brought up again as the Kingmaker noted that the Hermit might have to move at some point if earth would be taken. But the Hermit wouldn’t hear any of that, preferring willful ignorance over the severity of the war that was ravaging through the Galactic Empire of Treva.

After that the Kingmaker left to see to his purpose again and the Hermit went back to his studies. The Warrior kept working on the unicorns.

The Wizard got to work and as he no longer paid direct attention to them the memories of his other parts faded into the background, like a form of constant white noise.

After a few hours the Stargazer woke up again. Neither part of him drew attention to it, pretending it never happened in the first place, even the Stargazer just got up and picked up some of the work himself. It was best this way, causing no interruption in the current state of calm harmony.

Once he noticed the Hermit finally getting to take a look at the new scrolls, both the Wizard and Stargazer followed his memories reading along as they worked. These were some contentious accounts, telling of obscure and mystical artefacts Ravalor had never heard of before and the Hermit marked their names and descriptions down dutifully. The wizard that had written these had died a long time ago and his reputation was spotty to say the least — but that didn’t mean there was no truth in it. For a while the three of him discussed these artefacts and their potential effects based on the abstract descriptions. Both the Kingmaker and Warrior did not care much about it and so they stayed quiet and distant in their memories.  

Then more hours past.

Careful now.

The Wizard peaked up as he remembered the Hermit’s thoughts and quickly paid attention to what he was referring to. Then relaxed again as he understood.

Suddenly each of their attention was on the Kingmaker who was talking to a representative of the TIU-Trade Union. Not because he wanted to, nor due to his purpose (he was to run simple maintenance of the portal archways in the tower on Terans 4), but his face was too well known in this galaxy. His name too. The man had recognized him and roped him into a conversation — and all of him saw where this was going.

And like clockwork the man then pleaded for help.

There it is.

The Wizard thought amused as the Kingmaker almost literally squirmed, a plethora of curses on his mind. He just wanted to do his work! He would say no! It was enough, this time they had to deal with this on their own! He would say no. He wasn’t here to just help out random humans in whatever problem befell them! And then — begrudgingly — he agreed to help anyway.

Not that that was a surprise to any of his other parts. This kept happening ever since he had been permanently assigned to the Twilight Galaxy and settled on Galast. It was the very reason the Kingmaker had been given the title he wore now after an unfortunate incident that had his face plastered all over news screens across the galaxy for weeks. It was old history but somehow names given were hard to get rid off. Especially when he somehow kept ending up in situations where his help was begged for and he never managed to say no. Much to the amusement of the rest of him, even from the Warrior there was something that felt like a roll of the eyes in spirit.

Don’t you all have things to do!? The Kingmaker grumbled as he parted ways with the man and a new quest on his to do list. His irritation was merely cause for further amusement to the rest of him.

The Wizard saw even an almost gentle expression on the Stargazer’s face and it filled him with a sense of calm and a deep and pleasing fondness for all of his parts. They were doing alright.

He had some problems, there was no denying that.

The Hermit to this day refusing downright irrationally to leave the tunnels was an abnormality, but he had the Kingmaker to make up for that.

The Stargazer was broken, deemed unfit to take on any purpose, but he still was a part of him, and in his own way, he was stable. His deaths were unpredictable, yes, but by now, after a thousand years since he had broken down, it was simply a part of his life he had gotten used to.

Overall, he was doing alright. This was who he was.

And he cherished moments like these. The Hermit deep in his studies, the Kingmaker seeing to his purpose, the Warrior not in active combat, the Stargazer content and alive with him, lending a hand in the daily tasks Mezchinhar assigned to him.

He focused back on his work, letting the fine magical dust dance around the small cybernetic optical sensor before him. The summoning cycle was capable of a lot, but when it came to fine magical tasks like this nothing was better than the fine touch of a wizard. His left hand was connected directly to the system, allowing him to see a greatly magnified image of the work before him and the microscopic nanites under the control of his right hand.

The Stargazer in the meanwhile had taken the task of checking the finished works for mistakes or flaws. Others already doubted his capabilities, the least he could do is to make sure he wasn’t handing over shoddy work.

Then suddenly the Wizard stopped. He felt it before he remembered it, even though he didn’t truly feel what his other parts felt, great moments of shock or intense emotions send a ripple through their connection that was beyond memory.

Then he remembered the Hermit, staring at the panels across from him. They usually displayed mere background information about Treva and more precisely the whereabouts of Prince Aeven — but now a red flashing alert pulsed in the centre of the middle panel.

High alert! All wizards in the system are required to confirm their location immediately. Full port restrictions are now in effect.

The Hermit had jumped up already as the Warrior immediately tried to find out what had happened. The alert gave no specifics and as he inquired about it to his superior officer he was told nothing.

The Hermit had more success as his first course of action had been to send a message to Treva’s court wizard Bepazuxias. The answer came almost immediately. Only four words.

Charon has been destroyed.

5 Kazra : Mezhestvo

29.10.2022

Half-heartedly Kazra tried to brush away the soot from his hands and face as he walked down the wide corridor. He could only suspect, and a look in any mirror would confirm, that he was making it worse instead of better but he wasn’t too bothered by it.

If anything he was content and reasonably tired.

As a Sage to the young Primal Wizards and Scions his quarters naturally lay within a node of Mezhestvo as well. Compared to many other wizards his quarters did not double up as his workspace and the promise of a perfectly comfortable bed just waiting for him was very tempting. After all, he had been awake for about 67 hours now, working through most of it. However, before he would indulge in badly needed sleep he wanted to take the chance again to see Redkevik. And after that he’d clean up. Then sleep.

He had reached the control node to the Chambers of Time via the designated portpoints, but of course he was limited to a very few planes and chapters within this node. Fortunately for him Redkevik was overseeing more of the administrative purposes than actually manipulating the chambers, and so it was a place Kazra was allowed to visit him at despite his own purpose having no reason to be here.

Up on this plane there wasn’t much traffic, only a few wizards passed him by without paying him much attention, each of them well separated by a healthy distance to each side of the corridor.

Many of the doorways lining the corridor stood wide open, mainly those that had wizards working in them. Here and there he caught snippets of conversations, all of them of course only work related and of no real importance — after all, wizards didn’t gossip. Well. At least they usually made sure to not be eavesdropped when they did.

Kazra reached his destination. This door stood open as well.

Leaning against the doorframe Kazra just watched the other wizard for a moment. If Redkevik had noticed him already he didn’t show it. Perfectly undisturbed he walked over from one console to another, his light flowing robe accentuating his slender build. He was one of those wizards that just felt most comfortable somewhere between the human definitions of male and female, occasionally tilting more towards one or the other, but seemingly more by accident than choice. It really was a superficial aspect, one Kazra rarely took notice of with most wizards, because the concept of gender had no real meaning to them beyond the human forms they were given and later choose — but with Redkevik he thought of it differently. With him he noticed.

Kazra thought him to be beautiful. But like something that was always beautiful and one had gotten so used to it that sometimes it took a shift of the light to be suddenly reminded of it. He liked his more serious look when he was in Uniform, but also the unburdent elegance of the dress he wore now. Maybe that was strange for a wizard, he wondered, to fixate so much on mere appearance that could be changed at will. But that appreciation was at least something he could have.

Redkevik also had kept his hair open today. The long soft waves reached halfway down his back, as if to draw attention to the slender body.

Kazra took notice of a wizard walking past behind him without looking, still his senses were sharp enough to notice any shift in movement that would suggest the other to slow down or even raise his hands. But the wizard just walked past and subconsciously Kazra relaxed a bit more again. First when the wizard in the corridor was well out of earshot, Redkevik spoke, answering the question if he had noticed Kazra or not

The training is already over?

Aye, Kazra confirmed. Those scions will be the death of me. And tis circle. At least they should now be exhausted enough to keep us safe for a little while.

Redkevik glanced at him, gauging how to take his words, deciding that he must be joking, and nodded with a smile. Redkevik had gotten a lot better in picking up when he was joking. It had only taken them half an eternity give or take.

Was there another accident?

What gave that away? Kazra asked more amused than disgruntled as he demonstratively whipped his still soot-covered hands on his uniform.

Just a hunch. Redkevik indulged in the delightful sense of light-hearted levity with him for a moment while he already continued sorting the tablets before him.

Kazra stepped closer, but not too close, keeping the respectful and expected distance to the other wizard. Redkevik was sorting through the pile of unused data tabs. It’s one of Avogamox’ again. Lords only know why they keep allowing him to make more wizards. They are always troublemakers! Almost blew a goddamn hole through Mezax and Mezhestvo.

Redkevik glanced at him again briefly, he smiled very softly, showing that indeed he understood him to be exaggerating. They are eager to learn. That’s good.

I suppose. Kazra watched him for a moment, his eyes focused on the delicate fingers. They were really pretty. He wondered if his perception of hands was fundamentally different to that of humans. He had to assume so — there was so much more they represented to him.

Least ’tis batch of primals seems pretty docile. Som’ big must have happened, got five new ones at once. Plenty of space opened up as it seems.

I haven’t heard anything.

Me neither. But if I got five, plenty others must have too.

He thought, once more idly, how Redkevik’s hand would feel against his touch. How his skin would be against his. And he was aware how inappropriate it was. How impossible too.

But for a moment he just indulged in the fantasy while he kept on talking.

But it’s funny with that many. Looking at everything with those big curious eyes, wedging themselves in some corner, just watchn’. Gets more tricky to coax them out if that state with more than one. Everything’s just a lot to take in.

He knew better than to act on it — Redkevik was an extremely careful wizard that would execute his right to kill anyone touching him unexpectedly in an instance. The killing of another wizard’s Part was generally regarded as a disruption to order, however, when acting in self defence it was not only allowed but expected.

Kazra himself was maybe too lax in this regard, he had never out of reflex killed another wizard’s part just for an accidental touch (maybe he had become too comfortable working for so long with the young primal wizard that didn’t yet know any better) — but he was painfully aware that even with the sense of trust between them, Redkevik would probably kill him should he get too close. Accidental or not.

Doesn’t really change much overall, though. I was the same at first, Kazra mused. You remember being primal?

I do. Redkevik smiled ever so slightly, now looking at the panel he worked on, But it was different than it’s now. I didn’t come into time alone. I was just another part of us.

Aye. Kazra considered that for a moment. Trying to imagine a time when they all had been one. But he had only ever known the time after the Last Whisper and again and again he failed to really separate his own sense of self from the idea of being a mere part of a greater whole. It should be so natural to him, given his own parts, and yet he didn’t want to let it go, even for a thought experiment.

“I’ve been allowed to join the Velmer research team.” Redkevik announced, changing the topic while still not looking at him.

Oh. Kazra felt a painful sting in his heart. He had known it would happen, but that didn’t make it better. “That’s great.”

“Yes. I’m looking forward to it. It’s a great opportunity to observe such an event.”

“It is,” Kazra agreed. The collision of those two galaxies would be a bombastic event based on what Redkevik had told him — but it was also a very slow event. “How long will you be there?”

“At least a pulse.”

He felt the urge to tell him to stay, but why would he. Redkevik was a Wizard of Three, his Warrior still a Fieldgeneral to a Grandmaster, his Engineer an Oathkeeper now, watching a Mage on his duties, and the Wizard in Mezchinhar a Timemaster still, overseeing the chambers of time. Since Funnix they had not fought together. With their Grandmaster gone the entire division had been taken apart and reassigned into others. And now their Wizards would be split apart as well. But offering to visit him there felt like pushing it.

Finally Redkevik turned towards him, trying to read his face again. And he knew it must be all there, the pain in his eyes and the desire to just tell him to stay with him. Now. Always.

But he also knew that Redkevik could not see it and even if he would notice something, he didn’t understand it. He never did. Maybe he didn’t want to. And it was probably better this way.

Redkevik was an old wizard. Older than any other wizard he personally knew. And he was different. More careful, more distant.

It was the reason for why he knew how misplaced his fondness of the other wizard was.

And yet…

Kazra didn’t want the silence to take hold, it would force him to see to his own routine again. To his surprise however before he could have come up with something more to talk about, Redkevik asked,

Did you hear about Zenozarax?

Did, Kazra confirmed.

Redkevik nodded softly, letting his own work rest as he sat down onto one of the floating seats. Kazra understood it as an invitation. He joined Redkevik at the work counter and sat down as well. The moment he did, Redkevik let the door behind them slide shut with a little wave of his hand.

He felt the strange mood the question had invoked. It had been a while since they had talked about Zenozarax and Kazra still felt uncomfortable thinking about him.

Once upon a time he’d have followed that wizard into hell and back. Then Funnix had happened and Zenozarax’ Warrior had never been rebuilt. Kazra had spoken with Zenozarax only a very few times after that. The last time he’d done so, he had made the mistake of bringing up Mezchinhar’s request of rebuilding the Warrior — and that had been the last time Zenozarax had agreed to see him. Maybe he should have seen the possibility then, maybe he should have tried harder. But he would never have imagined Zenozarax actually turning on them.

Since you brought it up, I assume you suspect it wasn’t an accident?

We shouldn’t assume it was, Redkevik said softly.

Kazra nodded. Would fit. Blowing up the whole moon to destroy all evidence. But how did he do it then? He’d have had to get himself out of there before blowing up the moon otherwise the fail-safe would have triggered.

That is what the Circle asked me to find out. Redkevik nodded. It made sense, as Zenozarax’ former Fieldgeneral, Redkevik would be the most familiar with the way Zenozarax would stage any military operation.

And what did you conclude? Kazra crossed his arms, looking expectantly at Redkevik. He didn’t really expect an answer, it was probably way above his rank.

Unexpectedly though, Redkevik nodded and turned towards the work counter, raising a hologram of the destroyed moon and an array of information Kazra was certainly not intended to see. Consequently Kazra knew to value this show of confidence in him for what it was — and also realise that whatever Redkevik was about to say was important to him personally in some regard. He also knew that whatever it was he was to not tell anyone else about it under any circumstances.

Based on the chain of events and my familiarity with his tactics, I can reconstruct several plans that might have worked — up to a critical point where I don’t know how he did it.

Kazra read through the information on the panel. Which one is that?

There was a Sentinel guarding the chamber. But he wasn’t triggered. And I don’t see how he would have been able to do that.

Kazra frowned, looking from the hologram to Redkevik, and then it dawned on him. Redkevik was saying one thing, but telling him another without getting both of them into trouble.

I see.

Redkevik met his eyes, searching his face again.

Might be better to stay clear of that one I guess, Kazra murmured to help Redkevik understand that he picked up on what he hadn’t said.

I think so too. Redkevik agreed.

Because if Zenozarax indeed was in possession of the Knife again, both of their Warriors would do better in trying to not be in the division tasked to hunt him down once they found him.

 

6 Ravalor : Mezaiz

05.11.2022

Honorary High Wizard Ravalor by Exavidar; Acolyte to Zenozarax; Wizard of five: The Wizard, Soulturner of the first chapter; The Warrior, Pyromancer of the second Division under Grandmaster Desidevi; The Scholar, Watcher in the Trigamena Cluster; The Engineer, Planeswalker in the Twinfire Cluster; and The Stargazer

The Wizard clenched his teeth, a tense frown on his face caused by stress and exhaustion alike. It was rare to hear anyone use one’s full title, and Ravalor had just found out that it probably always was bad news when it happened.

The bodiless voice which had spoken his title sounded convincingly neutral and yet the Wizard felt like there was a certain aloof arrogance in it.

Honorary High Wizard — It had an important ring to it but it was an empty title. A consolidation after the Stargazer had broken down, commending his effort to future the research into the Void as recorded in his masterium, even though it had failed. Well, if it hadn’t he would have become an actual High Wizard, maybe even gotten him on a fast track to Magister. But no. Now he only carried the idea of the title because they didn’t think him stable enough to become an actual High Wizard and claim things in the Multiverse to his liking. At least it had made his ownership of the tower halfway legit. Not that this inherited ownership was a problem anymore — the tower was gone. And so was earth.

He felt bad that Exavidar’s name was brought up again. Every action he took inevitably casted a shadow on the Soulturner’s reputation. They had always forgiven him so far. But after this one, he wasn’t so sure.

Of course the First Circle would not miss the opportunity to point out his connection to Zenozarax again, even though the Wizard had to assume that everyone listening now had to be painfully aware of the entirety of his spotty history.

It probably was just standard procedure, but he felt like there was even something disdainful in the way his five Parts were brought up. As if to specifically draw attention to the fact that having five Parts was rather unusual.

It all ended with a deliberately drawn out way the title of his last Part was said.

Ravalor doubted there was any personal ill will for him in particular, he was just one of many and he knew that, but he was exhausted, hurting by the strain of shouldering an existence of five parts with only two. It made his own thoughts bitter and jaded and he barely recognized himself in them.

As he felt that sense of irritation flare up he did shoot a warning glare to the Kingmaker. Where the Wizard felt the irritation, the Kingmaker was angry.

Let’s not make this worse.

The Kingmaker met his eyes. He looked as tired as the Wizard felt. It had been a long time since they had been together in the same place. It was unfortunate that these were the circumstances that facilitated it.

The voice continued.

Currently present; The Wizard and the Engineer. The Warrior is under watch by Fleetmaster Nemoneleus. The Scholar is assumed dead. The Stargazer is allegedly missing.

Then there was a moment of silence. Ravalor, or at least what was currently left of himself, didn’t know what would happen, nor if he was supposed to say anything. If there was any protocol to be followed if summoned before the First Circle, he hadn’t been told about it.

Ravalor, finally a different voice broke the silence, no less bodiless than before, but sounding more human, though no less cold. You’ve caused considerable disruption to order. Your cooperation so far has been noted. You have now the chance to present your reason for the action you have taken.

The Wizard stayed silent as he let the Kingmaker speak. It was a gamble, given the still lingering anger he sensed in his thoughts, but the Kingmaker always had a better way with words.

I acted quickly, making a decision to the best of my knowledge, and I believe there was no other way to prevent a much greater harm from taking hold of that universe. Knowing the importance of it, given the interest in the current owner of the Hammer Izarax, I could not let Zenozarax continue or wait for the fleet to arrive for it would have been too late. I never intended for this many wizards to lose part of their existence, nor would I have ever dreamed of destroying the very planet I called home for thousands of years.

It did not take this action lightly and the Stargazer couldn’t bear the sacrifice that had to be made. I lost two parts of myself for what I’ve done. But Zenozarax has been defeated once more, Aeven VonTreva has been saved, and the universe can continue. Order can be restored.

Yes there was a certain strain in the Kingmakers words, but overall, this sounded good to the Wizard. Hitting the right notes he expected the circle wanting to hear and while it was bending the truth here and there, it wasn’t to a suspicious degree that would get him in trouble if indeed he should be facing another session with the Mindcrawler. Though at this point if probably wasn’t an if question.

Ravalor, the-

Suddenly a bright strip of light snapped open into a portal before him and through it a wizard appeared. The voice that had spoken turned abruptly silent.

Lord Wizard Heshiva.

The Wizard felt a nauseating sense of stunned awe and petrified terror alike. He had never met this wizard, but of course he knew him. Every wizard knew of Lord Wizard Heshiva, Wizard of the Lords, the once lone Watcher of the Iumzache.

His appearance matched the gravitas of his reputation. The regal robe of white and gold was magnificent, and there lay a wise spark in the old eyes. But also kindness. The wrinkles on his face portrayed him as a kind, old man more used to laughing than frowning — and indeed, there was merely a soft smile on the old wizard’s face as he stepped closer to Ravalor.

Ravalor, my name is Lord Wizard Heshiva. Wizard of the first circle. Will you answer me some questions?

For a moment the absurdity of the introduction and request wasn’t even making sense. What permission would this wizard need from him? Why would he even see it necessary to introduce himself?

Of course, Lord Wizard, the Wizard finally managed to say as even the Kingmaker stayed baffeldly silent. Heshiva’s smile stayed gentle and warm.

Unlike Yoctotyr before, Heshiva had come as close to him as general customs permitted. He stood before him, not even two metres apart, facing both the Wizard and the Kingmaker, displaying a comfort he would grant an old friend. While he held his hands in front of his body, wrapped around each other, they were covered in smooth white gloves not too unsimilar to those customary within their military.

I’m very sorry for what is happening to you, Heshiva said. You’ve gone through hardships many wizards will not know for a thousand iums. And yet, despite all, you stand here before me now, shattered, but with your head held high, facing the consequences of what you did. Every word was filled with kindness and compassion, but ironically because of that Ravalor felt more and more tense with every word. Just waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was too much, he didn’t believe it. Or at least, he didn’t dare to believe it. Yet Heshiva continued with that same tone never wavering.

I only ask for your honesty, young wizard. Can you tell me why you did it?

The Wizard frowned slightly. He had given his reason already, and Heshiva would have heard that too. Because he’d have destroyed the galaxy, maybe even the universe.

Zenozarax told you that himself?

Yes.

Do you possess any knowledge of the elder gods?

Just the basics.

Have you ever taken part in banishing an elder god?

Ravalor hesitated, trying to gauge the intention of the questions. No, the Wizard said and then the Kingmaker added, Earth would have been destroyed before the fleet could have arrived either way. I don’t doubt they would have been most capable to take care of it, but by then even more casualties would have been caused.

Oh, I agree, young wizard. Heshiva looked at the Kingmaker, his brows slightly raised. It would have been a long and straining battle and the chances to banish it again slim after the rupture of the rift space.

If they would have decided to fight it. The Kingmaker thought sharply, and the Wizard couldn’t help but concede to the most likely fact that they wouldn’t have. It was too many resources for no gain and little chance of success for a galaxy that was already written off as a lost cause.

There are many very disgruntled wizards right now, but if your words hold true, your decision was the most logical and practical to save the largest number of people and wizards in the long run. But why was it the decision you made?

I don’t… know what you mean. He wanted to say but the inquisitive look on Heshiva’s face stopped him. But he still didn’t know what else to answer.

I think you do. Heshiva’s eyes went from the Wizard to the Kingmaker and back again. There was no judgement in them, and yet Ravalor felt like it was there anyways. Then Heshiva continued.

You’ve been burdened with a horrible fate, young wizard. Heshiva’s voice was now quiet and it was almost easy to believe that right in this moment, they were talking alone in private. That not countless of wizards were listening.

A terrible fate brought upon the rarest of gifts of our new existence. You found a wizard that became part of you. A wizard without whom you will never feel whole.

Ravalor felt frozen, paralysed listening to Heshiva who for the first time in his existence put into words what he always had known, but would have never admitted. No longer to himself and never to anyone else. Knowledge violently ripped from his own mind when he had met the Mindcrawler for the first time. Memories taken from him against his will and examined by strangers to be forever written into his history. He never had known how much they really did see — now he realised it had been everything.

And here you are, chasing after that wizard — because he has to die. And if it must be so, you need to be the one to do it. To have the final say in the inevitable suffering his death would bring you.

His heart was beating hard, his breath was flat. He felt burning humiliation knowing that his most personal weakness was laid bare for all to hear. But there was nothing he could do. And in reality he understood that they all already knew.

But until that day, you’ll be in conflict. Your determination, your loyalty and the care you have for those closest to you will always be fighting each other, Heshiva said and paused, mustering him. Ravalor tried to keep his face neutral but he felt Heshiva saw through him anyway.

So tell me Ravalor, is Zenozarax dead?

Every single heartbeat felt like droning in his ears. He met Heshiva’s eyes unwaveringly, but he couldn’t answer. Lips slightly apart, ready to speak, but the word would just not come.

He’s not, the Kingmaker said, and the Wizard closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath, accepting the truth.

The look on Heshiva’s face didn’t change. There was no disapproval, no disappointment or anger, just a simple nod and that everlasting smile.

Then Heshiva said, I do not wish for your loyalty to be tested once more. I know as you feel for him, he feels for you, so I’m not questioning why he’d spare you time and time again.

But I’m just one voice among many. The only request I have for you, young wizard, is that you let it fade. He might not be dead yet, but he will be. Prepare yourself for that day. And do not pursue him any longer.

The Wizard wanted to respond, maybe even push back against the request, state that he had to, but before he could do so Heshiva continued even more quietly,

And if you can’t do that, if the suffering of your own mind becomes too much to bear, you may need to look very closely, and very carefully at yourself, and the reason you endure it.

Heshiva suddenly looked up, as if reacting to a voice Ravalor could not hear and his smile became almost apologetic. It seems like this is all the time I get. So heed my words, Ravalor. I hope you find true purpose and peace one day. Then he only stepped back and disappeared with a portal.

The Wizard blinked, only slowly matching the light frown on the Kingmaker’s face. He repeated those words in his mind back to himself, and again and again, he found the same subtext within them. And he couldn’t take them any other way but assuming it to be a test of his loyalty afterall. To plant the idea of leaving Mezchinhar behind, to join Zenozarax, and to then watch him very closely. Just a poisonous seed dropped into his mind that the Mindcrawler would inevitably report back on what he really thought about it.

And, for a long time, nothing happened. Ravalor kept standing right where he was, the Wizard briefly glanced towards the Kingmaker, then back into the white nothingness surrounding him.

The Wizard felt sick. There was a little comfort in the anger he sensed in the thoughts of the Kingmaker, it was grounding in a way.

And for a moment — he did consider. And he knew he was only given this time to do so. To entertain the arsenine idea that maybe, his true purpose wasn’t here. That, maybe, he had to leave Mezchinhar, to find Zenozarax, to stop him. Not by killing him. But…. What? Talk him out of the destruction? He had seen how well that had gone.

It was insane, and wishful thinking. And the longer he was left to his own thoughts, the more he felt that irritation being kindled in his own gut. Anger towards Lord Wizard Heshiva, probably even the whole of the first circle — because all of this was a charade that felt more and more like a set up.

And his thoughts fueled the fear within him, as every new line, every new possibility and consideration might be just what they were looking for. And he was terrified. The Kingmaker wouldn’t feel it, not like the Wizard did, because he hadn’t been there. The torture he had endured under the touch of the Mindcrawler had been burned into only his own active memory and that of the Scholar. The other three knew of it, but they had never felt it. And now he wasn’t even sure anymore if it really would prove him innocent after all as he became more and more certain that when he would be led out of this room, when he’d met the Mindcrawler again, it would end his existence.

He hadn’t noticed how bad his hands had started to tremble before he felt a soft touch against his fingers and glanced at the Kingmaker beside him.

It’s going to be okay.

I’m not sure it will be.

We’ve done nothing wrong.

I’m not sure about that either…

Ravalor.

He flinched as the bodiless voice addressed him again, sounding now considerably more strained, almost annoyed.

We will, for now, forgo another memory evaluation on yourself.

In genuine surprise and utter disbelief the Wizard rose his brows, the Kingmaker looked as puzzled. The entire time it had seemed a foretold conclusion to the end of this endeavour — and now it just… wouldn’t happen?

However, the voice added sharply, not wanting to give him too much time for relive. These are the consequences for your actions.

Both your parts currently present will be put in detention for observation for the time being until we see it fit to release them.

The Warrior will be removed from his previous position as Pyromancer in his devision and be placed in an appropriate position once his current mission has been accomplished. The Warrior will be allowed to keep control over the MTCS–TS02 you retrieved from earth. The Warrior will be required to inform the Circle about every destination, decision and event taking place during his mission. Failing to do so, or disabling the ships port beacon or The Warrior’s own identification will be seen as an attempt to flee and will be met with an appropriate response.

The Stargazer, if he is to return, is required to report immediately to Circle and will be taken into detention as well. Should during this observational period arise any questions concerning the validity of your testimony or suspicions of the use of chaos magic, a memory evaluation will be enacted upon the Wizard.

Ravalor let the averlange of words run over him. The Wizard felt a sense of numb acceptance as his entire existence was taken apart and ground into pieces.

What about the Scholar? he heard the Kingmaker ask.

You will, in due time, be allowed to have him rebuilt.

He understood why. On the off chance he would have switched sides, they wouldn’t want him to use their resources to make himself whole just so that he could then disappear on them. They would watch him very closely for a while before he would be allowed to rebuild the Scholar.

The intense discomfort of being unwhole was a side effect they may consider appropriate as punishment.

I understand. He merely said, with a low nod.

7 Ravalor : Mezdovat

12.11.2022

The Warrior arrived in the centre of one of Mezdovats main nodes on the first plane with a feeling of dread and unease. Both of those had become quite familiar as of late and his face showed nothing but the exhaustion the last months had ingrained into his whole being.

Swiftly he stepped down the circular steps from the sprawling portpoint to avoid clogging up the traffic. Divided clearly across the centre, to his left wizards step up to the portpoint. Others that had arrived were before and behind him, all making sure to spread out appropriately the moment they stepped down the portpoint.

He did so too, not halting in his steps before he reached a small waiting area were he wouldn’t be standing in anyone’s way. Collecting himself for a moment, mulling over his words again, he just watched the busying across the main node. It wasn’t hectic, not a single wizard walked quicker than a purposeful stride, but it was constant and almost without any interruption in its flow.

In the bright light of the glowing orb above the portpoint thousands of wizards arrived and left, more arriving, spreading out to the surrounding planes and chapters, some arriving through the portal arches, others vanishing through them. Most that came carried bundles, books or magic. Less of those leaving. Countless wizards tirelessly feeding the endless libraries of Mezdovat.

It had taken almost 41 hours since he had requested entrance, since then he’d watched his place in the queue slowly move up. Maybe the high priority notice he had attached had helped, but probably not. Mezdovat was one of the busiest circles within Mezchinhar, and it took a lot of organisation and adherence to strict order to not let it sink into chaos. In most other nodes it was sometimes easy to forget how many wizards there were. Ravalor didn’t know the exact census data but with a rough calculation based on the numbers he had, like estimated fleet size in the universes he knew and the workings in Mezhestvo, he estimated the total number of wizards to be in the trillions. And he assumed even that estimate was barely scratching the truth.

The Warrior was ignored by the wizards that walked past. There were so many wizards in Mezchinhar that running into one he personally knew by chance was downright impossible. So as long as they didn’t pay attention to him, they didn’t know him nor did they want to.

Looking up, past the orb of light hanging in the air like a small sun, reaching thirty planes high and another thirty below from where he stood were the first glimpses of what lay inside Mezdovat. Millions upon millions of books, scrolls, information in all forms, on all mediums, for any purpose. The knowledge and history of the multiverse. This close to the centre lay nothing of value to him. Knowledge easily accessible by any wizard of any rank, with no need for approval or reason. What he sought lay deep within, where the most magical and powerful artefacts and most secret knowledge were kept.

But he was here at one of the centre nodes because he couldn’t just go there. He was lacking rank as well as approval - he only had a reason. And words rarely were enough in these matters. Especially for a wizard that had become distrusted.  

The wizards he sought now had helped him before — but that had been before his most recent fall from grace.

He stepped back onto the pathway and continued down at 30° ascension, the further he got the less wizards were heading into the same direction. All of them glad to be out of that great main node where just too many wizards were as to feel safe or comfortable.

Continuing up to the seventh plane he left the centre further behind him, entering into a maze of wide corridors. Even here every walkway allowed at least three people to walk next to each other, keeping the appropriate distance. The paradox of Mezchinhar, which at this point struggled to make room for all the wizards living in it and yet had to make sure they weren’t forced too close to each other. Consequently, many nodes became smaller and more specialised, avoiding large amounts of wizards to accumulate in the first place. But this one, like all of Mezdovat’s main nodes, was one of the oldest, and maybe it was due to sentimental reasons it had not yet been torn down and rebuilt anew to be split into smaller nodes.

As it was, Mezdovat’s age was clearly written into every aspect of its design. Where most recently constructed nodes had become smooth and sterile, every wall and corner of this node was lined with sharp arches and rustic ledges, lines and cables as much as exposed magic and signs of repair and improvements covered every square metre into a daze of details. And yet it’s rough sharpness seemed natural, almost organic. As if every part of it had grown by chance more than constructed by purpose.

The Warrior walked as far as his rank and standing allowed him to, reaching the rim chapters of this node where one would put things out of view and out of mind - knowledge and wizards alike.

The directions labelled his path in Vaeh - they weren’t like words he read but just things he knew the moment he looked at them, but this wasn’t the first time he took this path anyways. He reached a room without a descriptive name beyond a long numeric designation and chimed the door to request access. Only a second later the door slid open and he stepped in. The interior of this room was a lot more modern than the corridors.

“Look who it is,” the very deep, almost hoarse voice came from somewhere within the room, followed by an unsteady chuckle of another, more higher voice.

The centre of the room was occupied by a large circular table filled to the brim with scrolls and papers. Keeping to the shape of the table, over two dozen shelves extruded outwards. Somewhere between them were two wizards.

The Warrior stepped closer to the centre table and looked around, trying to spot the odd pair.

Where’s the Engineer? Did he die too? The deep voice asked lazily, and finally the Warrior spotted High Wizard Pebipenga on the right side of the room, past the shelves, more or less laying halfway on a chair, feet on top of the console. Obviously extremely busy with his work.

You have been watching me? the Warrior asked, keeping both his face and voice perfectly neutral.

Well, you didn’t show up for a while, so I got curious. Pebipenga shrugged, swung his legs off the console and stood up. And there’s downtime here.

I can’t really believe that.

That’s because you don’t know how to chill.

To… chill...

Yep. Even you saying that sounds wrong. Pebipenga seemed to shudder as he came closer, brushing some paper dust from his witchrobe. The mass of curly red hair around his head seemed unkempt and even more of a mess than usual, the beard of the same colour wasn’t fairing any better.

But you should try it, you look horrible.

Ravalor just mildly raised an eyebrow. He may looked tired, but at least he got his appearance in order.

So where is he? Pebipenga had reached him. Almost three times as broad as Ravalor himself, with arms like tree trunks and about half a head taller: Pebipenga was without a doubt an impressive, near intimidating physical presence. Until one looked a little bit closer. The untidy appearance and the ever gentle and sleepy look in the High Wizard’s face made it hard to feel threatened by him.

He’s put on house arrest. They had him locked up until recently. After what happened, the Warrior said. He didn’t want to say it, and in any other situation he wouldn’t have. But he wanted something from Pebipenga and so he had to offer something in return. Refusing to answer the inappropriately personal questions from the High Wizard right of the bat would taint this conversation with mistrust. And he understood that if he wanted this wizard to trust him as he had before, he better made sure that did not happen. More so, he gave himself a mental push by the Kingmaker’s urgent suggestion and added,

My wizard still is. But he’s now allowed to rebuild the Scholar. But only outside the chambers.

Ouff, they left you hanging good there, didn’t they. Pebipenga let out a heavy huff, expressing compassion for his situation.

It’s what they do! the other higher voice from before suddenly hissed through the room, both the Warrior and Pebipenga looked for the source, but the wizard in question was still nowhere to be seen.

Pola! Pebipenga called into the room. Don’t be rude. Get over here, we have company!

A tumbling sound, some clattering, suddenly the wizard called Polaseran stumbled from the shadows between two shelves - alert attention in his face as if he was ready to shoot any intruder to atoms.

Oh. Polaseran spotted the Warrior. Oh. Ravalor. Yes. He nodded as if someone had asked him something. What do you want now?

Right to the point, eh. Pebipenga grinned, turning back to Ravalor while Polaseran hushed around the table - keeping a very generous distance to both the others. But he’s right. Why are you here now? Can’t be one of your scholar’s requests. Pebipenga nodded over to one of the chairs around the table as he sat down himself

It’s related, the Warrior said, following the invitation to sit and promptly gave the table a quick touch, sending the files in question to Pepipenga’s place who then gave them a pondering look while the Warrior continued.

This was mentioned in one of Heshiva’s journals you gave me. But I can’t find any information beyond it.

The lord’s essence… Pepipenga mumbled, stroking his wild beard into a tube that sprung back to full volume the moment he took his hand away.

Do you know anything about it? Is it the basin or the liquid inside?

I have no idea, I’m sorry. Pepipenga shook his head, then he looked up, past Ravalor. Pola?

Polaseran stood next to a shelf behind Ravalor, almost pressed against it and into the shadows. Watching both of them tensely. What?

You knew of the journal, so do you know anything else about the Lord’s Essence?

Might. Polaseran pressed his lips tightly together after that as to imply that he shouldn’t be saying anything.

Come now, spit it out. We’re all good here. Right? Pepipenga glanced to Ravalor who wasn’t sure if he was supposed to answer anything to that so he just nodded. He wasn’t sure about good, but they all had fallen out of favour in some form or another. That’s why he had come to these two. Because they would offer help where nobody else would.

Polaseran moved, though it was hard to say with what intention. He just shifted, slightly to the side, then back again, half a step forward and a whole backward, his hands twitching nervously, wrapped around each other, fidgeting. He wasn’t looking at either of them anymore.

You shouldn’t go there, he suddenly declared and vanished into the shadows.

Pola! Pebipenga rose up. Ravalor followed.

They found Polaseran hunched over a console, sunken into work. As Scryers both Pebipenga and Polaseran’s task was to archive and analyse visual data coming from all across the multiverse. There was never a shortage of work to be done.

Pebipenga went over to Polaseran and kneeled down next to him. He was way closer than any proper etiquette would require. Polaseran though ignored him and focused solely on the work before his eyes.

Hey. Pola, Pebipenga said gently. What are you doing?

Watching, Polaseran mumbled absentmindedly as if nothing of what had been said before had even taken place.

How’s it going?

Good. No. Bad. A little shake of the head. It’s hard to think right now.

Why is that, Pola? Pebipenga coaxed the other to keep talking.

The memories of him are louder.

From the ship?

Yes. Yes… I can’t stay there. … it’s just too loud. Pebipenga?

I’m here. It’s alright. They’ll be quiet again soon. Keep watching, Pebipenga prommissed and stood up. Finally looking back at Ravalor who had watched them respectfully quiet.

Let’s move this outside, Pebipenga said.

The door slid shut behind them after they stepped into the hallways.

He knows where it is?

Seems so. And I should have suspected that. Pebipenga looked not too happy about it. But he’s right. You shouldn’t go there.

Where?

Gorgons Row.

Oh.

Pebipenga continued. His warrior was on one of the last ships going into Gorgons Row. They never returned. But he didn’t die there. He’s still there and alive. To some extent. They did something to him. I don’t know what. But he can’t get there, he can’t save him, can’t shut him off to rebuild him. Been driving him pretty crazy… as you might have noticed.

Ravalor nodded.

That place is dangerous. Don’t pursue this. It’s not worth it.

But it was. He just wasn’t able to explain to Pebipenga why, nor did he want to. What he was doing now had long moved from practical to personal and he didn’t feel like admitting that to anyone but himself yet.

So Ravalor stayed quiet on that topic. Instead he asked, Can you try to find out more about it from him? Can you make him talk?

Maybe. But I rather wouldn’t. It’s not good for him.

Their eyes met for a quiet and long moment. And there was a lot happening in that moment, Ravalor realised. It was not only Pebipenga testing him, seeing if he would push him on this, to hurt another wizard just to get the information that he needed. That would shape the balance of trust between them for eternity. But it was also a conflict within himself. His anxious desire to find a solution to save Aeven by all means necessary paired with his pragmatic disposition — clashing against the fact that no, he didn’t want to hurt that wizard. He actually didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore. This didn’t have to be done.

Then don’t, he finally said.

Pebipenga nodded satisfied. I’ll listen to him. Maybe he will speak. Until then I’ll find you all the information on Gorgons Row. If it’s there, warriors might have mentioned it, some journals that slipped past the keepers. You know; Know where to look, don’t look where they know.

Thank you. And, if you can, please hurry. This is a matter of urgency. I’m not sure how much longer I have. Ravalor felt the slip of his stoic composure like a stab in the back. And sure enough, Pebipenga had noticed it as well, showing clear surprise about the pleading tone.

I will. Don’t worry. I’ll ask Sigmasiopaia about it too. He’s got access to a lot more than me.

Thank you, Ravalor repeated.