9 Zenozarax III (Warrior)

10.02.2024

Ravalor slept. And Zenozarax found himself sitting at the side of the bed on a relatively plain armchair just watching the young wizard. It was clear proof of how much Ravalor still trusted him, that he hadn’t woken up as Zenozarax had entered. His subconscious awareness would know him to be here, but saw no threat in it. A questionable as well as purely subjective, maybe even illogical conclusion he must have come to, maybe out of hope and nostalgia alike.

Zenozarax knew to value this sign of trust more so than ever before. There had been a time he had taken it for granted. He had been wrong to do so.

Away from the struggles of the last months, Ravalor would sleep a lot now and not much at all. Often but never long or even effectively. Cut off from four Parts of himself, this fraction of who Ravalor was would be under an enormous amount of constant and agonising exhaustion. Every waking moment his mind was trying to compensate and fill in the blanks of what was simply missing, every restless hour it would try to store and process all the memories accumulated over months with no place to go.

Zenozarax had been there, he knew that suffering, but he had only been missing half of himself.

He could barely imagine the suffering that had let Ravalor make such a drastic choice and then stick with it.

“What made you do it?” he whispered.

Ravalor moved and Zenozarax felt an instant wave of regret having disturbed Ravalor’s sleep.

Ravalor turned from his back on his side, blinking, still sleepy, yet meeting Zenozarax’ eyes. There was no surprise, because he had already known him to be there.

There was this moment of silence again. The moment in which it seemed so strange and unbelievable that this was a moment that actually happened. Both of them, right here.

“I still can’t believe you’re here. It doesn’t make sense to me,” he said while Ravalor watched him quietly. “It doesn’t make sense for you. You were always so orderly.“

“I always thought so, too. But, I’m not that wizard anymore,” the Stargazer answered, a mere whisper. It hurt more than he could ever imagine. “If I ever were.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Zenozarax said with a sombre smile that seemed to puzzle Ravalor. But he couldn’t answer the unspoken question. Or even begin to explain while even now, over two thousand years later mere words could strangle him.

“Maybe I was only compared to you,” Ravalor suggested. And maybe that was true. If he really would have been as orderly as Zenozarax accused him to be, they would have never done all the things they had done.

“What happens when you die?” Zenozarax asked, quietly.

Ravalor sighed, fully committing to being awake and rising halfway, leaning with his back against the pillows of the sprawling bed.

“Pelagius told you about it?” he asked, dodging the question.

“I know what he knows.”

“So you are still connected.”

“Yes. And will be until I get that knife back, so, probably for eternity,” Zenozarax answered freely, knowing the best way to coax Ravalor into answering a question was to just keep him talking. Eventually he’d come back around to it. If his diversions had been sufficiently answered.

“Do you plan to get it back?“

“I don’t see how. I suspect you took it after, well, me going—” Zenozarax made a maybe a little tone deaf exploding motion with his hand, overplaying the still agonising pain and grief the mere memory evoked within him. “So it’s back in Mezkrov now. It’s still bound to me which means they can’t find another owner. It will stay there until time runs out. Or well, I die. Which now will be a very high priority for them. And that doesn’t make things easier.“

“But do you plan to get it back?“

Zenozarax smirked grimly, leaning halfway to one side, resting his head in his hand. “Sure. It’s right up there with the other good ruined plans.“

Ravalor nodded, not taking the grim frustration personally even though he was taking a huge load of the blame for Zenozarax’ most recent downfalls.

“So?“

Ravalor pondered over his answer concerning his “deaths” for a moment, then said, “It’s cold and dark. That’s all I really know.“

Zenozarax slightly frowned. “That’s all? There’s nothing there?”

“No, there is!” Ravalor rose up further. In an instant there was something like urgent desperation in his tone, like it wasn’t the first time he had to explain what nobody believed him. “I just — I can’t see it. I know it’s there, like right before my eyes. But it’s like I am just… not looking correctly.”

“Hm.”

Ravalor looked away. He had folded his legs under the blanket, his fingers entwined lay on top of it, he looked at them now as if trying to figure out their mystery. As he spoke again Zenozarax understood the hesitation. And he also wished he had never asked in the first place.

“I tried to see. To remember what I couldn’t. To understand why you were gone.”

There was an unspoken question. They both knew it was there. Ravalor’s tone was pleading for him to answer it. And still begging for him not to.

He felt the tension in the Wizard’s thoughts watching him closely and also recognizing the minefield he had just entered. But he agreed, he wouldn’t lie. But the truth and the potential consequences of it scared him.

“I made a mistake,” Zenozarax finally said, and hopeful, as much as terrified, Ravalor looked back up to him. “I made too many mistakes. And you helped me fix some of them. But this—” despite all he chuckled dryly as he looked briefly at his own hands “—curse, it was within you too. I didn’t want you to take this path. I didn’t want you to live in fear for the rest of your life. I wanted you to be safe.“

“You killed me.” It wasn’t even a question.

“Yes.” His mouth felt dry.

“Did I ask you to do it?“

“No.” His heart burned. “I begged you to come with me. But you refused because you needed to stay. Because it was the right thing to do.”

Ravalor looked puzzled, maybe even betrayed.

Zenozarax had known it would come to this. But now that the time had come he didn’t feel prepared for it at all.

“I’d have followed you, always.”

“No. Not where I was going. Not where I went. I went too far. You were right. And I couldn’t let you bear the weight of my mistakes. Not you—” For a moment, as he shifted his posture, sinking more into his seat, he caught his fingers trailing over the golden necklace he wore. Demitalek used to have one just like it. He, the Warrior, had always worn it since that day. The Wizard would like to forget about it. But he wouldn’t allow himself to do so.

Ravalor stayed quiet for too long. Brows furrowed in heartbroken betrayal. And Zenozarax remembered that last look on his face, the moment he had begged him not to do it.

“Tell me about it,” Ravalor said. “All that happened after…”

Zenozarax hesitated. The pain in his heart flared up as he realised that he couldn’t do that. Not all of it.

The golden necklace felt heavy around his neck.

“Atladin needed to die. That was always my plan. But when we got caught, and what happened to you happened, I knew there was only one way left to get us out of there. I took this curse, this knowledge, and I killed them. But the power I unleashed in my ignorance was a ceaseless destruction. Bound to me and tearing myself apart. You helped me build that portal in the rift space beneath Treva, to banish this construct of my own making into hell. But to do so you took chaos into yourself as well. I wanted to leave it all behind us. But you were worried about the danger the portal posed. And you were hurt. Angry. Disappointed. Scared even. Rightfully so. And so you choose to stay.” Zenozarax closed with a deep breath before adding, “I couldn’t have you remember it. It would have destroyed that life you wanted to return to.”

“It did. Anyways,” Ravalor said quietly.

“But you are still alive.”

And Ravalor stayed quiet.

“Ravalor I—“, Zenozarax halted in his words.

The tightness in his chest grew, something screamed at him from the back of his mind as his body tensed up. The timing couldn’t be worse.

“Zenozarax?“

“I need to go.” He abruptly stood up. “We will talk about this more, I promise, by the lords I promise, but I have to go now!“

“What’s happening?” Ravalor, now alert, seemed to, thankfully, understand that something was indeed happening and Zenozarax wasn’t just trying to escape the conversation. By the lords he cursed himself to hell and back — he knew they needed to talk about this more. But he couldn’t ignore Aeven either.

“I’ll explain later— I really need to take care of this. It’s important. I’ll be back soon!“

He didn’t wait for an answer as he had already left the room.

The moment he did he almost ran straight into Pelagius. There was a stressed expression in the young knight’s face — but Zenozarax already knew why that was. Even before he told him.

“He’s— I can’t calm him.” Pelagius stepped out of his way then followed him promptly while Zenozarax already quickly walked down the narrow hallway to the crew quarters.

“I know,” he said grimly, unable to get rid of the tightness in his chest. Because he felt more than his own feelings.

He noticed the torn fabric of Pelagius’ uniform as well as the distinct bloom of a bruise on his face that would vanish soon enough.

The engineering bundle of Tarnaxes that was Thez, Taz and Fiz rolled past them scuttling through their legs and miraculously not making any of them stumble. Neither of them paid any attention to them as they didn’t do either.

“Do you want me to…?” Pelagius asked hesitatingly when they reached the door.

“No, stay outside,” Zenozarax just muttered and went inside, letting the door close behind him again.

Facing another problem of his own doing.

Interesting how often that happened nowadays. Maybe it should be a cause for concern.

The young man was breathing heavily, curled up, wedged into the corner of the room as far away from the door as possible. Arms slung around his knees, pressing them against his chest. His hands grasped tightly into the black fabric of the plain jumpsuit he wore. His knuckles and fingers were bloody and broken. Noticeable strands of the brown hair lay on the floor, blood on his temples.

As he heard the door, he looked at him. Eyes wide with panic, his breath quickening.

“Aeven.”

“No.” Aeven struggled backwards, trying to squeeze himself further into the corner, just to get away. But there was nowhere he could go. “Go away. Leave me alone. No. NO!“

Zenozarax walked closer toward him. The young voice broke in desperate panic.

And he kicked, shouted, even bit as Zenozarax kneeled down and took hold of him. But Zenozarax ignored all that as he firmly grasped Aeven’s hand and neck. Aeven’s eyes seemed bulging, sheer terror in the ashen face.

He kept holding the young man’s shaking hand, the other firmly but gently dug into the messy brown hair, keeping him close and still.

“It’s going to be alright. You’ll be. I promise. It’s all good. You’re safe,” Zenozarax said quietly, gentle but with no uncertainty. And with the cursed prince’s mind finding comfort within himself again, he felt the struggle against him die down. Then a hoarse gasp, a sob. The strong body was suddenly taken by helpless trembling.

“Make it stop…“

Zenozarax kept him close, caressing his back, letting him cry. “It’s going to be alright,” he just repeated.

There was a certain absurdity in this. A ridiculous irony. Holding the man who had desperately tried to kill him now close to his chest. He was broken and hurting. And that was Zenozarax’ fault.

He had done this. And now these were the consequences.

If he just would have killed him… but no. Once more he had let himself be compromised by his own emotions. There was no sense in blaming the Wizard for it when he knew he would have done the same.

Objectively he had known that this Aeven hadn’t been the same he had gotten to know in Treva. Not the same as the boy he had raised. The man that had trusted him. Subjectively he had been unable to cast the spell that would have torn Aeven to atoms for good.

He had just needed him to stop, to step aside, temporarily out of the picture. And that decision had undone him.

He had succeeded in plunging that knife into the young prince, the Hammer’s own ward shattering against the force of the knife — but it had left him open for a counter attack. That brief moment, enough to kill him before the knife could have ended it all.

Only in one aspect he had succeeded. He hadn’t killed Aeven. In hindsight it was a questionable success.

And that to the prince’s detriment.

Zenozarax knew the human mind well enough. He understood the impossible pain the young man was going through.

Having lost his planet. Everyone he loved. Fought and died. Having chosen and accepted his own death. Then resurrected, left within the fires of the Casm of Rodenborg for months. Dying and resurrecting over and over again a never ending torture. Just for it to end after all — taken in by the wizard he had died trying to kill. Soulbound to the one person who had brought all this misery upon him.

They were connected now.

As much as he was to Pelagius. Each of these men, bound by the knife’s curse, almost as much a part of him as the Wizard was.

And without the knife there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t make it undone, he couldn’t kill them even if he wanted to. They were bound to him, but he barely held any control over them without the knife.

He couldn’t fix Aeven. But he also couldn’t ignore him.

The tortured prince finally had calmed in his embrace, the breathless sobs reduced to a shuddering breath. Carefully Zenozarax let go of his hand, taking Aeven head, forcing him ever so gently to face him again. He saw the quickening of the young man’s breath right again, just to look him in the eyes set his fight or flight response on fire.

“What do you need?” He asked quietly. Aeven swallowed hard. But didn’t answer. He hadn’t really since they left earth.

“I know you’re in pain. I want to help you.”

Confusion still in the wide eyes, the underlying panic too. But also a numbness, now that the worst of the panic was fading. Taking his hands from Aeven’s face he took both of his hands instead, making sure they were as close as possible for their minds to find each other.

“Is it the nightmares?“

There was the smallest nod, hesitatingly, wearily.

“Do you see them now?“

Another nod. Firmer this time.

“What do you see?“

And for the first time, Aeven really answered him.

“...death.“

“Your own?” He gently tried to coax Aeven to continue. But a shadow fell over the deep sea that were his eyes. His head dropped, avoiding his eyes again. And he stayed quiet.

And Zenozarax knew this wasn’t the time yet. He let go of Aeven and stood up again.

“I’ll have Pelagius bring you something to help you sleep.“

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