Sukatar I

Sukatar despised Chaos Wizards.

She always had. Back in Mezchinhar, her most prestigious purpose had been that of a Seeker within Mezchinhar's Order. Dedicating two of her three parts to the task of hunting down Chaos Wizards and seeing to their total destruction. This disdain of those who had left Mezchinhar to join the destructive forces of chaos had been ingrained in her since the day of her awakening.

Nowadays, having been forced onto the other side, she understood the magnitude of Mezchinhar's propaganda machine and how twisted the idea of the wizard of chaos had been. It had forced her to really dissect the way she felt and why.

Carefully purging what she had been taught, and replacing it with a pure and fully personally acquired hatred focused much more on the individual than the entire vague idea of chaos wizards. Wizards like Quadirymir and the scum he called his contacts. Knowing she was one of those made her skin crawl.

Hatred was emotional, personal. And filtered out of what she had found most despicable about the subjects of her hate, she had distilled a much clearer, purer and more focused form of despise. At those that sought nothing but destruction, pain and suffering.

So despite carrying the title herself now, she still despised Chaos Wizards.

She was not one of them. And she was carrying the title. There was a poignant and undeniable lingering regret of her own situation. Self-pity maybe. Anger too, towards that one Chaos Wizard that had turned Moakatar and who had forced her into an impossible choice. She could never have killed Moakatar without dying herself.

Maybe they should have both died there. Sukatar would have fulfilled her purpose, and they both could have rested together in eternal peace past the void. Of all the things a Chaos Wizard might be motivated by, Sukatar understood one thing now more than any other: The desire for survival.

It had made her choice then, and it had dedicated her life, and that of Moakatar in turn, ever since. And all the wizards that were part of her function shared that reason. Xaronzul — who had fled Mezchinhar in desperate fear of his own life before ever coming into contact with chaos. Zenozarax — whose strong sense of self-preservation was without a doubt the most dangerous.

In the lack of a proper purpose, however, this desire for survival seemed futile. What exactly was it she strived to survive for? Or was survival purpose enough? To prosper within an uncaring and cold Multiverse, immortal, in perpetuity?

For the longest time, the hunt for the wizard that turned Mokatar had been her purpose. But with a trail turned cold and no further leads even this exercise in productivity had lost its meaning.

She understood that this was a problem of their creation. Because they, the wizards, had never been created for this life. They did not belong in this life. The lords had left behind their magical creations, their tools, and there was no greater meaning in that.

The wind picked up noticeably as she left the city behind her. The blinding lights and noise were growing distant with every step, and more and more, it was all devoured by the forest around her.

Cold, leafless branches and shrubbery grasped at her cloak as she left the beaten path into absolute darkness. The moons and stars were all hidden behind stormy clouds that whipped past the sky with the growing wind that would usher in the harsh and cold storm season.

The trees around her were warped by hundreds of years of storms, standing at an almost perfect and uniform 45° angle. Sukatar walked against the wind, past rows and rows of tilted trees that appeared like a bulwark to stop her advance.

She had only a set of coordinates in her mind, she followed. It was still a 20-minute walk from here, and while she could simply teleport there, she would rather not.

It was twenty minutes to centre her mind and sharpen her awareness. Every step was a chance to look out for and notice any signs of an ambush, rather than teleporting straight into an uncertain and dangerous situation.

She was on this planet to meet a wizard named Cabanyame

She had known this wizard for a long time, and it was not the first time they had met like this. The place was never the same, and he would not even remember it. If all went as usual. Sukatar herself was cut off from her other Parts as well, and ready to, in the blink of an eye, if no escape was possible, destroy the entirety of this body, this Part.

Because Cabanyame was a Seeker of Mezchinhar.

Once upon a time, their relationship had been fueled by ambitious rivalry as much as genuine respect for the other's abilities. A twisted competition that counted the heads of chaos wizards for score, ranking them by age, part-count, type of capture (live captures gave bonus points, of course) and operational cleanliness. She would tell Cabanyame he was the best Seeker of Mezchinhar, and he would tell her that she was, both doing so with the mutual understanding that it was make-believe flattery.

She wouldn't have called him a friend back then.

Now she wouldn't dare to in fear of it clouding her judgment.

But he had spared her in a chain of catastrophic failures of keeping order. Two Seekers compromised because one wizard was turned to chaos. Mezchinhar’s order had always seemed absolute and unshakable — but Sukatar now saw the fragility of it. Because where the idea order operated with the cold, calculated logic of a machine, it clashed with the subjective and emotional state of the tools it relied upon.

She was close now to their meeting place.

Cabanyame didn't know who he was meeting. Cabanyame didn't even know if she was still alive. He didn't remember what he had done.

Summoned here with nothing more than a location and a time, provided to him by a deaddrop system spliced into a regular communications stream. A common way for Seekers to pass information from one to another in secret, all relying on excessively abstract ciphers and necessary personal information to even understand that there was a message in the first place.

She could never be sure Cabanyame actually got the message. And she would never be certain it would be only Cabanyame that showed up.

But until now, he always had.

She stepped onto a clearing within the gnarly woods. It was nearly impossible to make out any sounds above the howling of the wind and the cacophony of rustling tree branches and breaking wood. But she wasn't alone.

Between the oppressing darkness was the faintest gleam of warmth. A human shape, only almost blending into the cold ambient temperature. A deliberate choice of the wizard making himself known to her.

She crossed the clearing, holding her head high, aware she was presenting herself on a silver platter. If there was a trap she hadn't sensed yet, or if the Leviathan itself was pointing its crosshair at her right this moment, she would find out in the next few seconds.

She kept on walking. And briefly, she deliberately took down her guard, for a flash, identifying herself towards the wizard she was walking towards. As another signal of non-hostile intentions.

The figure before her moved slightly. Sukatar read it as a surprise and caution alike.

She stepped back into the cover of the trees.

“Sulaveshan.”

That hadn't been her name in a long time, but it was the only name Cabanyame knew her by. He was taller than her now; most wizards out of Mezchinhar were these days. He wore a dark, agile space suit and armour that fitted this world's time and customs. The tightly shaped helmet and mask suited it, but it covered his whole face, robbing her of any emotions on his face.

“Do you understand?” Sukatar asked as she stopped, a generous three meters away from Cabanyame. With the sound of the wind, it would be too far away for any human to understand a single word she said.

Cabanyame stayed silent for a moment. A dangerous moment in which he could inform Mezchinhar about their whereabouts. But Cabanyame was too smart as to fall for a knee-jerk reaction like that, which could have him killed as well. The very fact of their meeting, the implications that came with it, would be enough to taint his reputation forevermore.

“I think I do. But can you explain it to me?” Cabanyame asked carefully, his voice slightly filtered by the helmet's speaker systems, but still the voice she knew.

“You spared me and Moakolax when I failed to kill him. You had to forget. Ever since, I have on occasion met with you. I have provided you with names and locations of chaos wizards you have successfully hunted down.”

Cabanyame listened quietly. Connecting the dots and probably wondering how often this had happened before. Which chaos wizards did she talk about? Once they parted ways, Cabanyame could obviously not use the information he got directly, and he had to act carefully. Planting hints for himself to find before taking the knowledge of their encounters into the void. Keeping them both safe.

A practice well established to keep Mezchinhar's assets like the Envoys and other Seekers safe, now turned back on Mezchinhar itself to benefit both sides.

“How is he?” Cabanyame finally asked, and it was always this question that signaled that he believed her.

“Fine. But we’re no longer safe. And I need your help.” She said quickly, not wanting to talk about Moakatar because even when she had to trust Cabanyame, she didn't want to give him more information than he absolutely needed. Just in case things went catastrophically wrong. Should suspicion fall onto Cabanyame at the wrong moment, before he had a chance to wipe clean or alter his own memories, it would expose too much. So she continued:

“There is a Chaos Wizard that is becoming a problem.” Arguably, he had been for a long time. Still, where a past version of herself would have sought Quadirymir's demise a long time ago, he had also provided a valuable safety net to their lives, and so she had willfully turned a blind eye for all their sakes. “His name is Quadirymir. Mezchinhar knows of him; they fought him before and lost. He is dangerous, cruel and malevolent. Be careful with this one.”

“That is the kind of company you keep these days?“

“I understand the judgment. But that is not important now. A part of this chaos wizard is going after a Highwizard named Ravalor of Exavidar. He is with a human, Aeven VonTreva, the wilder of Izarax. I need to find out where Ravalor is.”

Cabanyame frowned. “Why can't you find him?”

“That is exactly what I need you to find out. I tried, but there was nothing. Not on Ravalor, nor Aeven. At least not for the level of access my source has.”

“Who is that?“

“I’m not going to answer that, Caban.”

“Continue. What are you implying?”

“I think, Mezchinhar has redacted all information about him, they are going nowhere, and I need to find out as quickly as possible why. It is of vital importance. For reasons I can not disclose to you, I need to find that wizard, and I need him to be safe. He is in danger.”

“If he’s with Izarax, it might be for security,” Cabanyame suggested the simplest, most likely explanation. Reducing the accessible information on a subject to zero, basically wiping off any hint of its existence was a practice both of them were all too familiar with. There were probably many things both of them had been made to forget because of it.

“If so, fine. But I still need to find him,” Sukatar countered. “He has to be still in Mezchinhar; there are wizards who know him. I just can't get to any of them.”

“Which Part is with Izarax?“

“His warrior.”

“How do you know all that about him, but not where he is?“

“Please, Caban, I can’t tell you any more than that. But I will give you Quadirymir if you can help me find Ravalor. And quickly.”

Cabanyame looked at her for a while, uncomfortable, clearly, but concerningly so. Sukatar knew the promise of information about a known and long-hunted Chaos Wizard would be a temptation hard to pass. But the nature of the request also made it impossible to move slowly and carefully on it. If Ravalor was in immediate danger, Cabanyame could not risk a slow, potentially days or even weeks-long game of chance of him finding the relevant information and bringing it to Sukatar in time. He needed to act, with this knowledge he held, with this part. Now.

“Meet me in a shift, at this very place. If I find anything till then, you shall know of it. Otherwise, I have to forget and do not ask again.”

“Thank you, Caban! And please, be careful.”

“You don't want me to be careful.”

Sukatar smiled lightly. “Then at least stay vigilant. Something is going on here, something unusual — I can feel it. Don’t assume the answer to be easy.”

There were too many odd variables in this whole situation. Too many unknowns, and too many unusual events.

“I always am.”

“I’ll see you.”

“Be it with purpose.”

Sukatar just nodded. And maybe that was actually true — there was a purpose to fulfil there.

Pelagius I

Blissful, uneventful nothingness.

By now Pelagius could barely believe it himself. There had been a very brief time, not too long ago, where he might have boredly complained that his current position in station security wasn't particularly fulfilling for a man of his training — but that had been before Ravalor.

Pelagius wouldn't say it to his face and one really couldn't blame the man himself for about half of the troubles since his arrival, but there sure was something disruptive about Ravalor’s presence. A fact somewhat tragically comedical, as Ravalor’s quiet and reserved personality struck him as the pure antithesis to disruption.

Intent or not, the more Pelagius had learned to cherish these last few weeks where absolutely nothing had happened. Even more so because he hadn't been bombarded with any more volleys of fantastical magical nonsense. Katja, a young tailor on the station's marketplace that had an unsurprisingly close business relationship with Zenozarax, had called him “a particularly young old man cursing the new and unfamiliar” in jest. But he supposed it was true. It wasn't that he was in principle against magic — he just found it exhausting and had the subjective experience to justify it.

“Something is different,” Aeven noted and Pelagius returned his attention back to the man walking next to him. He had picked up Aeven at the tail end of his daily patrol through the station — he had started doing that almost a week ago. Nobody was yet eager to give Aeven unsupervised free roaming privileges on the station even though it might be a discussion to be had in the not too far future. Aeven seemed remarkably stable to the point that it was hard to reconcile the memories he had of just weeks ago with the calm and thoughtful look on Aeven's face.

Aeven looked good, healthy even — and almost nothing like the man Pelagius had known. Wearing a plain dark overall, his hair cropped short and a prominent red stubble in his face. Not to mention, probably about 10 to 15 years older, and with that just as old as Pelagius himself, unlike the young prince he had watched grow up and who had been 12 years younger than him.

The age wasn't all tough. Even now, calm as he was, there was a hardness in Aeven's eyes, a shadow of unimaginable suffering no human being should ever be forced to endure. And even more than that, Pelagius knew there was something dangerous, violent, that just slumbered beneath the calm.

The Aeven he had known had been a child, not left unmarked by pain — but there had still been warmth and kindness in his eyes.

It made it almost easy to not see him in that face.

“What's that?” Pelagius indulged in the musing politely.

“I'm not quite sure. I still feel the curse, of course, but it's like there is something else. Something that is at peace now. I'm feeling… more calm now.”

“That's good,” Pelagius said tactfully neutral. Aeven had been on his best behavior, but that didn't mean Pelagius trusted the peace yet. However, giving Aeven that impression would be counterproductive.

“It is,” Aeven agreed thoughtfully. “I just wish I knew why.“

“And if it's going to last?”

Aeven looked at him with a grim and undeniably uncomfortable nod.

They walked a bit further, reaching a part of the station that was colloquially called the boulevard which was lined to both sides with impossibly large windows (someone had told him they weren't actual windows) displaying the distant sea of stars outside. It connected the residential hemisphere with the work and office side, and was often a place people came to relax and meet. It was far removed from any sense of normalcy or nature, but the vibrant strip of greenery running below the boulevards was the closest the station had to a park.

He liked this place despite it feeling perfectly absurd to him. Warm and pleasant lights basked the area in a golden glow — he could feel their warmth on his skin and when he'd closed his eyes he could almost make himself remember how the sun had once felt on his skin.

They stopped, glancing outward into the nothingness of space. They stopped before the wide windows as Pelagius noticed Aeven slowing down.

There was a conflicted look in the man's face, and Pelagius had a very good guess as to why that was. He had seen that look before on Sasha's face back on earth.

They didn't know each other, not really, and worse was the hard to forget violence that had preoccupied the majority of the time they had so far spent together. But to Aeven he was also the only person he could really speak to.

“I've been having some weird dreams,” Aeven finally said, looking outside. Despite the strong physique and hardened look on his face, with his arms just hanging down, standing indecisive just far enough from the railing to look like he had planned to be there, he looked lost. Like a child forgotten in an unfamiliar place by his parents. Pelagius hated the thought.

“Still the nightmares?” Pelagius leaned his elbows onto the railing, carefully watching Aeven. Especially in a setting like this where there were civilians around him, he better made sure Aeven wouldn't unexpectedly fall back into a fit of panicked violence.

“No. That's what's so weird about it.” Aeven frowned slightly. “The nightmares are still there occasionally, memories of burning, and the fire mainly, but they are rare now. Usually when I dream now — it feels like I'm somewhere else. I can't really remember them. I tried to write it down after waking up but I can't grasp any images. Just feelings.”

“Hm,” Pelagius said, unsure how to respond to that.

Aeven looked at him with a slight frown on his face as he finally stepped closer towards the railing.

“I think it might be the Hammer.“

“The Hammer? The wizard one?”

Despite all there was a weak and amused smile replacing Aeven's frown. “Yeah, that one.” He turned around leaning against the railing.

“Ravalor said it would only stop working if I were dead. But I'm not, am I? So it has to be still linked to me. But I can't take a hold of her…” Aeven murmured as he looked down to his right hand in thoughts. He stretched his fingers out, tensing, then relaxed them again. “She hates being separated from me, and frankly, I don't like it either. So this is … it feels wrong.”

“You speak of it like it's alive,” Pelagius noted unhappily as this was just again more magic stuff. In a world of spaceships, resurrections, and cross dimensional travel, a sentient Hammer didn't seem too far-fetched anymore.

“It is.” Aeven dropped his head to the side, looking back at Pelagius with raised brows. “Nobody really gets that. But the point is, obviously she is somewhere out there and I think we are still connected. I just can't reach her. Or she can't reach me,” Aeven said with unwavering certainty.

“Have you told Ravalor about it?”

“No.” It was a very definite no.

Pelagius mustered Aeven who was no longer looking at him. “I thought you were friends.”

Aeven stayed silent, not a single emotion betraying his face. Pelagius was just about to let the topic drop and suggest they continued when Aeven said,

“I wanted him to be a friend. But I don't think he's capable of that.”

“I think he is trying.“

“Then he's not very good at it.”

Pelagius pondered that for a moment. He understood where the bitterness was coming from. He had felt the very same. But he also saw the uncharitable frustration within those words.

“I spent over a year with that wizard. We weren't close, not like friends, certainly not in the beginning, but we were together most of the time. There was an expectation I had of him. Undoubtedly you must have too,” Pelagius began, carefully picking his words. “He was built up to be this virtuous seemingly all powerful hero, a kind, if not a tad judgmental, genius who would find a solution to anything. It was in our holy book, and within every story Zenozarax told of him. For you, he was a hero in your universe too wasn't he?“

Aeven nodded.

“Getting to know him, I didn't find the hero that was promised. Instead I saw only a man that was deeply scarred and in pain. A man too afraid to show his own weakness. You've already seen that too.“

Aeven nodded again, more hesitantly.

“Like one might idolize a father figure just to realize later in life that that person is flawed too. It's uncomfortable, even painful. But necessary.” And yet he desperately hoped, the Aeven he had known had not felt it in the last moments of his life.

“You'll not find the hero and friend, not the way you want him to be, and holding him up to that expectation will do you both a disservice. He's not blameless in this and if anything he might see you in a similar way.”

Aeven now met his eyes unwaveringly.

“I think, even more than you and me, that wizard used to have a very clear idea about all of this. You, me, Zenozarax — and especially himself. And those ideas no longer align with reality. I'm not trying to make excuses on his behalf, I'm just saying, I understand it.

“With all of this—” He vaguely waved towards the space around them. “There are moments where I still don't even know who I am. I know who I was; Ser Pelagius, Captain of the Royal Guard of Treva, a trained knight since childhood. Someone who guards and protects, just like my father and my father's father and so on. I haven't been that for years, and I will never be that again, and still I think that's who I am.”

“That's just a title though,” Aeven said quietly, a heavy note in his words as if for the first time he realised that he too wasn't and never would be again who he thought himself to be. “That doesn't change who you are.”

There was a flaw in both their points, Pelagius was aware of that as much as Aeven would be but neither of them said it. Because how would they even begin to factor in what had happened to them. Zenozarax had decided their fate, bound them to him, and made them immortal. No matter how much illusory freedom they had, Zenozarax was still in their mind. Their relationship to Zenozarax now defined them no matter what else they thought about themselves and each other.

He glanced at the centre column of the boulevard that displayed the current station time in a band running all around it. His shift was long over already. There was a celebration going on today in the restaurant and he wondered if it would be appropriate to bring Aeven. After a moment he decided that it probably would be a good thing.

“The goblins are having a little celebration right now. Would you like to come?” He asked and noticed a strange reluctance in Aeven's face.

“What?”

“What’s the occasion?” Aeven asked, clear reservation in his voice.

“It's a coming of age celebration as far as I understand it. You don't have to come. I can bring you back to your room,” he suggested.

Aeven kept quiet for a little moment and Pelagius noticed him glancing across the boulevard, watching a few of the residents, humans and goblins alike interacting with each other.

Pelagius tried to guess what Aeven was thinking, but before he could have asked Aeven said,

“I'll have a look.” Nodding seemingly more to himself as if that was something he needed to confirm to himself.

“Alright. We should get going then or there won't be anything left for us,” Pelagius pushed himself away from the railing and Aeven followed suit.

As they walked further towards the other side of the station Aeven asked,

“You mentioned Ravalor appearing in your holy book. What was that about?“

Pelagius shrugged. “God mentioned him a couple times. But I've never been much of a scholar.”

“God?“

“The Northman.”

They stopped.

“.... You're serious?”

“What are you talking about?“

“The whole 'God of this universe' thing? You believe that?“

“I'm—” Pelagius said, stopped, and put a break into the confused back and forth by saying, “Aeven, you have to explain to me what the point of confusion is, I don't know what you're talking about.“

Aeven glared at him hopelessly amused. “I mean — I'm sure he thinks of himself as a god, that man has enough ego for three, but — he's just a cyborg. Immortal yes, but — not a god.”

Pelagius considered this heretical claim for a moment and combined it with Ravalor's account of what had happened leading up till here and what Sasha had told him about cyborgs. He had never been very religious but it was still the faith he had been raised in. It was one thing to be uninterested in god, it was another to be told that everything he had ever been taught about it was false.

Aeven's smile faltered. “— you really are serious. He really was the god of your world?”

Pelagius nodded thoughtfully.

“How? How long would he have been there?“

“Well — as far as I remember, the books said he created the earth and the stars over 2000 years ago. But there have been some scholars who doubted that claim. Allegedly Trevanax, the founder of Treva, had found artifacts that predate that time by quite a margin.”

“Yes I remember that. They had them in a museum in my time. Bepazulux, our court wizard, once told me one of them was just a wizard screwdriver basically.” Aeven smiled weakly as they continued walking. “But earth is much older. Like 13 billion years old.“

“Yes, yours. But not mine.” Pelagius shook his head. “If I understood Zenozarax correctly, my earth really was created 2000 years ago. It should have been much older but it wasn't. And he did suspect the Northman to have been involved.”

Now Aeven frowned. “... That's when he arrived then? 2000 years ago. So you're telling me your creation myth is literally true.“

“It appears so. Though I still don't understand how there could have been things then that are older.“

Aeven had no answer to that.

“I wonder what he had been doing all this time… when he showed up at that battle he didn't seem so different. Besides the god thing apparently.”

“He was there?”

“He helped me defeat Zenozarax.”

“Oh,” Pelagius said downright wistfully. “I must have been dead already when that happened.”

“Is that a rueful tone because you would have liked to have seen the Northman or to have seen Zenozarax die?“

“A little bit of both probably,” Pelagius said with a light shrug, only halfway joking.

Aeven chuckled. And Pelagius, as they kept on walking, watched him for a moment from the corner of his eyes, feeling a slim smile twitch in the corner of his mouth.

Ravalor I

The restaurant was filled with loud chatter, laughing and music. The music itself was — fine — Ravalor supposed, not too loud, not too hectic, heavy on flute and base, but allowing for casual conversation. But it all was a little bit much. It wasn't even his personal dislike of crowded spaces, well, not only that, but it was a wizard thing (he told himself). With his advanced senses, being able to see more, hear more and even smell more than any human or goblin for that matter situations like these could quickly become rather …straining. A drawback of being honed to high alert about their surroundings at all times, always watching out for threats (wizards).

One of the cooks, Burton, generously provided another tray of drinks to the bunch of pushed together tables that now formed their large makeshift banquet table, and his return was cheered by dozens of voices and the drinks were eagerly taken.

Zenozarax had always seemed perfectly comfortable in these situations and Ravalor had to assume it was a deliberate choice on his part. Willingly handicapping his own awareness, risking his own safety, just to get fully immersed in the laughter and celebration.

And so he tried to do that too.

It had been a little bit disorientating at first. Where he would have been able to hear every singular conversation in clarity before was not this almost pleasing white noise of voices blending together, mixing with the music. His vision narrowed, blurring out what wasn't in his immediate focus, allowing him to ignore it more easily.

It made it more pleasant — but he did feel a lot more vulnerable in turn and consequently, more nervous too.

But for now, he accepted that feeling. Even tried to ignore it. While there still hung the prophecy of his own death above his head, he would take an optimistic guess that it probably wouldn't happen right here, right now. (Zenozarax would probably have another lecture about prophecy for him if he knew of this.) It was fine. Because everyone was so happy about him being here. There was something flattering about it.

Wolla Tarnax, the chief engineer on the night shift, had literally begged him to come, after all it was the Da-lax-zxiou of her niece too. After admitting that he knew next to nothing about goblin customs, Wolla had explained to him that it was a yearly celebration marking the coming of age of any goblin that had reached the age of 10 months in the previous year. It was the only age-related celebration they had, she had explained and that they never did celebrate individual birthdays outside of Da-lax-zxiou.

By now he had the very distinct feeling that his presence, alongside Xaronzul’s who had come down from the CC half an hour ago, was held as something akin to a blessing. At least all the young goblins were very eager to have him pat their head at least once for some reason. At first he had refused, which had earned him the most heartbroken look he had ever seen which quickly had him reconsider.

Wolla Tarnax had jumped up onto the bench next to him a few minutes ago, saving him temporarily from his blessing duty, and now sat with crossed legs beside him, one of the bottles Burton had brought in her small hands. The round, shatterproof bottle with the integrated straw looked perfectly oversized on her.

“Why do they want me to touch their heads?” He asked her, caving to his own curiosity.

“It's a great honor. That means you trust them,” Wolla said between two long drinks from the straw. She tucked some of the cloud of silver hair behind her ears but they sprung loose mere moments later.

Ravalor frowned, reasonably confused. “But, they are goblins. Why would I fear them?”

Wolla raised her brows at him, clearly amused by his bluntness so he quickly added “I mean, in the sense of being cautious about another wizard's touch it wouldn't apply. There are no wizards this …uhm, small.”

“It's the thought that counts!” she declared happily sipping along on her bottle. It was pretty clear to him that she was at least tipsy by now based on the way she seemed a lot more giggly than usual. As on queue she chuckled when yet another young goblin approached them sheepishly and Ravalor gave the young lad a light pat on the flaming red fluff on his head. It caused a radiant grin with his sharp small teeth and the young goblin bolted off with a proudly puffed chest — off directly to Xaronzul as Ravalor noted who tousled his hair good and proper, matching his grin. Xaronzul was a little too tall and not green enough to be a goblin, but a weirdly familiar resemblance was there, given his wild red hair and sharp features, not to mention his hyperactive mannerisms.

An excited squeal of several of the very small goblin children made him look back and he saw Pelagius being charged by a haze of green excitement rushing him before he had even fully entered the Restaurant.

Most of the kids were way younger than 10 months (a goblin was considered a young adult by the time they turned 10 months old), with the largest of them barely reaching to Pelagius' knee. Indulging them, Pelagius crouched down and talked to them for a little bit.

But Ravalor's attention was quickly drawn from the impressively relaxed looking Pelagius to the not at all relaxed looking man next to him.

Aeven looked, if anything, unnervingly uncomfortable and based on everything that had happened it wasn't a look Ravalor liked to see on that man.

He saw two of the children trying to get Aeven’s attention, but with his own hearing deliberately dampened he couldn't make out what either of them were saying. There was a slim but very forced smile on Aeven's face but Ravalor did not miss the slight twitch as one of the kids grapped his trousers to pull him to the table.

And suddenly, his own memories jogged by the visual input trying to relate it to anything he might know, he distantly remembered and suddenly understood extremely well what the problem was.

His own attitude towards goblins had been uncharitable at best, he wouldn't deny that, but it paled against the strategic and hostile propaganda against goblins Aeven had grown up with. The wizard's influence had been strong and inescapable, especially since the seemingly unstoppable rise of goblins within the Deeproot Galaxy.

For all his life Aeven would have only heard the most vile and nightmarish tales about them, reducing them down to near brainless vermin that only sought out to do the chaos wizards bidding, to bring death and destruction wherever they could.

And now there was a small, beaming goblin child that tried really hard, standing on their toes reaching up, to hold his hand.

Ravalor was about to stand up but then finally both Pelagius and Aeven managed to leave the entrance and get closer to the tables. The bunch of children was like a cloud of small orbiting moons that were pulled back by their irresistible pull no matter how far they went out in their dashing and running around them.

“I didn't expect you to be here,” Pelagius announced with surprise as they were within earshot. Both of them were handed a drink before they had even reached the table by Bendax Fen (one of the machinists Ravalor had already worked with before).

“Same, actually,” Ravalor noted with a look to Aeven. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Aeven said not very convincingly while he watched the celebration around the table. Finally Pelagius seemed to notice the tension within Aeven as well.

“You're going to tell me if you don't feel alright, yes?“

“It's not that.” Aeven frowned as he took the free seat next to Ravalor who only briefly met Pelagius' eyes. The knight shrugged slightly. “Did you know about this?” Aeven asked. The question had a bitterness to it Ravalor wasn't sure he was projecting into it. Afterall, it was a very familiar question, one he had asked himself not too long ago.

“You mean the goblins?” Ravalor still asked.

Aeven nodded silently as he looked at him, and there was something in his face Ravalor couldn't quite place. He seemed heartbroken and angry at the same time.

“No. Not like this,” Ravalor admitted. “Nothing of this is how I thought it to be. Nor how I was told it is.”

Aeven didn't answer, watching the goblin children playing alongside the few human ones in their respective age bracket. For a hesitating moment Aeven opened his mouth, seemingly about to speak, but then stayed quiet.

Ravalor could only imagine what he was thinking. Maybe remembering the countless goblins that had died by his orders. Or the fact that now, even after he had accepted the truth of this new situation, the truth of the only life he had ever known before was put into question.

And Ravalor recognized the injustice of it — the mere fact that a man like Aeven, whom he knew to have the greatest compassion for anyone of any class or creed, could have been so misled.

Pelagius, while unlike Aeven indulged his given drink, eyed them both downright suspiciously. But before he could have chosen to ask about it Wolla Tarnax leaned with a sigh against Ravalor who stiffened up immediately.

Her tipsy attention was not on Ravalor however. “It's good to see you out and about,” she said looking at Aeven who seemed a bit taken aback that he was spoken to.

“I — I'm very sorry, you seem to have me at a disadvantage, ma’am. Have we met?” Aeven asked, and Ravalor almost actually chuckled as seemingly all emergency rip cords in the prince's mind were pulled at once and he immediately fell back into the most polite and frankly near disturbingly courtly tone Ravalor had ever heard.

Wolla Tarnax seemed positively smitten by it as well and sighed dreamily. She really was drunk.

“Only seen you around. Fixed after you. Stuff you broke here and there.”

“Oh.” Aeven cleared his throat, a flush of chagrin on his cheeks. “I'm very sorry about that.”

“Noo noo don't be. It was great. I like—” she hiccuped “Fixing things!”

“Wolla, what are you drinking?” Pelagius asked, sounding almost conversational while Wolla by now was short of crawling onto Ravalor's lap. He wished he knew how to stop her — politly.

“Havlan's Mercy! It's a family recipe — you wanna try? It's a little strong,” she slurred and offered the drink to Pelagius but Ravalor snatched the drink out of her hand instead.

Meeting Pelagius' questioning gaze Ravalor took a little sip and then said, “Wolla, this is not for humans.”

“But he's immortal!” she complained, not liking the implication of Ravalor's tone. “He's magical.“

“Well, why thank you, Wolla,” Pelagius noted perfectly dryly which in turn actually made Aeven chuckle.

“But he still won't like it,” Ravalor said, maybe feeling a little bit guilty that he had given into the same curiosity once himself by giving Pelagius some mana which hadn't turned out great. Then for Pelagius and Aeven's sake he added, “I heard them talking about it the other night and one of its ingredients is Vateretic Acid. It won't kill you, but at this concentration, you… as I said, you wouldn't like the effect.” To put it mildly. He put the bottle onto the table and out of reach of Wolla.

“Excuse me, Mister Wizard.”

A peeping voice got their attention and it was another of the young goblins.

“Yes. Come here.” Ravalor suppressed a sigh as the young Tarnax stepped closer with his lips pressed tightly together and he let Ravalor pat his head.

“What's that about?” Aeven asked curiously.

“Some kind of blessing,” Ravalor said as the young goblin thanked him wholeheartedly and jumped away again.

“You're now a holy figure, too?”

“As far as I'm concerned I have no business blessing anyone but it seems to make them happy,” Ravalor said stiffly.

“That's nice of you,” Pelagius said before another drink from his bottle and Ravalor tried to discern the sarcasm from his tone but found none.

“I think she fell asleep,” Aeven noted and Ravalor glanced down to Wolla who indeed was snoozing, still comfortably leaning against his side.

“Or passed out,” Pelagius assumed as he placed his own bottle on the table. “Might be best to get her back to her quarters.” He looked up and then waved his hand. “Daxy!”

At his call another Goblin soon came rushing around the table. Daxy Tarnax seemed only marginally older than Wolla herself. As he spotted the potentially passed out Wolla he chuckled.

“I'm sorry she's always been a lightweight. How long has she been sleeping already?”

“A few minutes, at best” Pelagius said. “Do you need help getting her back to your cabin?“

“What? Nah—” Daxy looked at Pelagius downright puzzled as he stepped up to Wolla and gave her a good shake at the arm.

Like being stung by a bee Wolla twitched up, jumped from the bench and immediately glared at everyone around her, ready for any emergency. And surprisingly enough she looked extremely sober. Then she realised where she was and with whom and relaxed visibly. “Oh — I must have dozed off! I'm very sorry!” She said with a chuckle, and she even sounded impossibly sober!

Ravalor watched Daxy playfully teasing Wolla about being a lightweight which prompted both to scurry away in the search for the next best drink in sight.

“Have you heard of Zenozarax?” Pelagius asked and Ravalor blinked, looking back up. He noticed how the question alone caused some undeniable tension within Aeven. He also noticed the brief glance towards Aeven from Pelagius. Maybe he was testing him and the strength of the eggshells they were walking on around him as of recently.

“He returns tomorrow,” Ravalor said.

“Oh, already? That’s good.”

Ravalor wasn't sure Pelagius actually meant that. No actually, he was relativly sure it was just a platitude. But it was good, no matter how either Pelagius or Aeven felt about it. But there was no need to dwell on it and make them uncomfortable.

“There was a man in the restaurant the other day. I was wondering if you knew him,” Ravalor said as he felt it best to change the topic.

“What's his name?” Pelagius asked naturally.

“I… don't actually know,” Ravalor admitted.

Pelagius seemed reasonably amused by it but indulged him, “Okay — can you describe him to me? Did he do anything I have to worry about?” After all there had to be a reason Ravalor brought it up to him specifically. Ravalor couldn't fault him for the immediate worry.

“I don't think so. I just haven’t seen him in a few days” Ravalor mumbled as he picked up his datatab from the side table and unfolded it to its true size. “He just… I don't know. He was friendly.”

“A great crime, indeed.” Pelagius crossed his arms with a serious nod.

Ravalor ignored the quip as he transferred the memory of the man to the tab before handing it to Pelagius. On the screen was a very clear picture of the old man sitting at the table in the restaurant from Ravalor's point of view.

“Hm, I don't think I know him. But I can look him up if you want.“

“I thought you knew everyone on the station?“

“I like to believe that till every time I meet someone I don't know. There are many people here and especially with the elderly — as long as they don't do anything that causes trouble, like violent gambling rings, I usually don't interact with them. I do know of a couple that get their food directly delivered to their cabin for example.“

“He did say he isn't out of his cabin much,” Ravalor confirmed, seemingly too occupied by his own thoughts, to question the implications that the elderly on this station frequently set up violent gambling operations. It surely had to have been a joke, but still.

“There you go.” Pelagius shrugged. Then he looked back into the rest of the restaurant, before finally adding, “I’ll see if I find anything, alright? Make sure he’s okay.”

“Thank you.”

Zenozarax I

“Why did you have to take her leg?” The young boy asked, words emerging from deep thoughts as it seemed.

Zenozarax glanced over to Aeven, wiped his hands on a rag as he stood up and walked over to the troubled prince. “Because it was infected. It would have killed her.”

“How did it get infected?”

“From what she told me, she was working in the garden and cut herself by accident. A small wound, she ignored.”

“Just a cut?” Aeven shook his head slightly in puzzled disbelief.

“It’s easy to believe, small actions ought to have small consequences. But it doesn't work like that. Life is fragile. A moment of inattention or hubris can cost you everything. That doesn't mean you have to go through life scared. But it means to be vigilant. To respect a known danger even if one becomes familiar with it. “

The boy blinked at him wide eyed and Zenozarax had to once more remind himself that was talking to a child.

“I’m saying you have to be careful.”

“I always am carful!”

Zenozarax felt a vestigial smile. “People who say that are usually lying.” Speaking from first hand expiriance.

“I never lie!” Aeven lied.

“Of course not.”

*

Zenozarax sat beside the worktable, the yet inanimate body of his Warrior laying there before him. He held his right hand with his left, slowly easing the recalibration of this new body to an old mind.

The short cropped hair and beard of the Warrior was just the same as it had been the very first time he had been awoken. When he had become whole. The face looked older now, by design. More serious, more stern — less naive.

Zenozarax raised his free hand as he leaned over the Warrior, combing softly through the still lightly trousled hair. He hadn't been his Warrior then. Only of two parts and a long way away from joining the fight of the Order, he had been called the Engineer then. Traveling space and time alongside his mentor, Lord Wizard Moldiana. And Yoctotyr.

He had been happy there. For a while. Even with Yoctotyr there, he would have said once. He sighed deeply.

The deep melancholy that filled his mind was familiar and he didn't fight it.

“I need you back,” Zenozarax said quietly as if that would quicken this process. It didn't, and the Warrior did not answer. So his thoughts wandered in the silence.

No matter how far they went, they always found their way back to Treva. Wading through the corroding guilt and fond memories. Memories of this or that conversation he had, with this or that king or queen, but mostly Aeven. Moments he had shared with the young prince. Most of which he regretted because what was he to do with these memories now? His other hand raised, but dropped down again before reaching his chest.

He had tried and failed to keep his distance and now he felt that, and would feel it forevermore. There was no pity for him there, he before anyone else was perfectly aware of that. His regrets didn't matter to anyone but himself. And even he could do nothing else with them but ponder at times like these about all the things he shouldn't have done.

He now had reached a point in his life where his whole existence was put into question. By no other but himself. Because deep in his heart he knew that he probably never would have made a different decision. He wasn't sure he could. Not at the moment.

And so the only thing he could do to stop himself was to give up.

But could he?

Could he fight this fire inside his soul that pushed him forward ever relentlessly? Could he fight the very reason for his creation.

He saw the millions of years of his past like a crystal clear mosaic — everything he had done, every commotion he had caused in the comforts of Mezchinhar, arranged neatly, one piece to the next, forming a vast and excessive picture of experiences and accomplishments. The times of conflict were no mistake — that was what he was meant to do. It only took him the better part of a billion years to see it, but Leshodimar had made no mistake when creating him, even if he would have been marked with it just the same at Zenozarax’ defection.

He had functioned well. They had marked him a troublemaker but deep in his awareness he had long known that wizards that truly disrupted the order of Mezchinhar didn't get as old as he had.

No matter how deliberately contrarian he had thought himself to be — it wasn't only accepted, but utilized one way or another. Because he had been in a tightly controlled environment, he had been at their leash. His existence had a purpose.

The thought turned sour and burned in his heart.

How was he to leave that fire be?

Zenozarax raised his head, looking at the motionless Warrior. But his thoughts were back on the Edge of the Universe — with Ravalor.

And for the first time, Zenozarax failed to see a valid path forward. For the first time, the very core function of himself failed him. It wasn't like he couldn't see all the options ahead — but they were all terrible.

Emotion told him to help Ravalor, to protect him at all cost from what loomed on the horizon.

Cincisism based on past events told him to just let it be and step back because his attempts to fix things had only made things worse.

Righteous anger still told him that he couldn't let this injustice stand, that Mezchinhar needed to fall.

Common sense based on his failures told him that he alone couldn't achieve that anyways.

Regret told him that he needed to fix what he had broken.

Hope told him that maybe, as long as he kept Ravalor safe, there still was a chance for them.

But melancholy told him he floundered his chance to be content and happy some 2000 years ago, and he would never find peace again but in death.

“And whose fault is that?” he said beneath a breath to nobody but himself. Paralysed by indecisiveness.

Then suddenly, the Warrior was with him again. His mind closed the gap, shifted, and expanded back into the two equal halves that formed himself.

And abruptly there it was again.

He felt it, and in parts it scared him, as he crossed that threshold, and his focus narrowed, like his nature couldn't allow him to stay in this state for even a few more seconds. A clarity of mind that had been elusive over the last weeks. The wheel of misery had come to a halt and despite the opposing odds had landed one action.

The Warrior opened his eyes, blinking, a deep frown on his face.

— We might need to consider a third part before one of these days you go sun diving when I’m not around.

“Don't be daft.” The Wizard helped the Warrior up.

Suicidal tendencies were the least of his problems when almost all of his actual problems were caused by him not wanting to die

— Alright. Then let’s do something about this.

“You’re angry,” the Wizard stated as plain observation. “That’s good.” Because frankly, he preferred the anger over the fear. The Warrior glanced at him as he walked over to the counter at the side where the pile of prepared clothing for him lay.

— He killed me.

“We don't know that for certain,” the Wizard said calmly, posing as the voice of reason within the construct of his own mind again. He earned a sharp glance from the Warrior for that.

— But it's what you think.

The Wizard watched the Warrior dress himself with the prepared clothing silently. Just as he raised his hand to his head to reform his familiar hair and beard shape he felt that pang of nostalgia again. The Warrior halted, glancing at him, a perfectly silent question.

The Wizard just slightly shrugged his shoulders. And with that, after just some minor adjustments to the length and shape of his hair and beard, the Warrior’s hands just dropped. He looked good — and the familiar vanity of the thought was of a weirdly calming nature. Like proof of him being whole and right again.

Still being on the Dark Citadel, and with that always in earshot of Quadirymir, the Wizard then too chose to speak solely in their minds.

— Let’s not escalate the situation with Quadirymir further. At least not openly and not yet. I’ll Speak with Sukatar about her findings. See what she knows.

*

The Warrior returned to the Edge of the Universe. It was, in the station's time, the early morning hours, and so, despite the desire to do so, he did not go to see Ravalor first. Chances were good he was sleeping anyway and he wouldn’t want to disturb him.

Furthermore, the matter of speaking to Sukatar, clearly, was far more important. Whatever she would tell him would be relevant to the next time he spoke to Ravalor, no doubt.

Sukatar was, of course, still bound to the process of rebuilding her part on the Dark Citadel. And in this situation, he feared any more disruptions to the process would cost them time they no longer had. And so Zenozarax went up to the Starview Dome Observatory at the very top of the station.

Moakatar wasn’t hidden from him here, and so he knew he would find her there. But even without the luxury of knowing their whereabouts, if one could catch more flies with honey and moths with light, a star observatory was a sure place to attract any stray wizard at any time.

Especially a lone one.

Moakatar was sleeping alone, the small figure lost within one of the sprawling sitting pits that could easily seat 30 people. He didn't like seeing her like this. Without Sukatar. Without Xaronzul. And unceremoniously thrown out of their shared bedroom as Ravalor had arrived.

It was a false sentiment he knew, one part of her was with Xaronzul helping him rebuild, the other with Sukatar's illusive third part. But still, there was loneliness in this place now. A place that had been a safe haven for so long.

He stepped into the pit and over soft cushions and sprawling blankets before he softly sat down besides her. She already was waking up, sensing he wasn't here for company.

“You’re back,” Moakatar said quietly, taking his hand immediately like she wanted to be sure he really was there. Their minds gently brushed past another, flowing alongside undisturbed without entwining themselves. He could feel her relive as much as he saw it in her face.

“You know what worries me more than anything that is going on?” He asked, and felt almost guilty for the immediate worry he caused Moakatar who frowned.

“What is that?”

“How am I ever going to break it to Ravalor that eventually he has to stop hogging that massive bed all to himself.”

The remark properly caught Moakatar by surprise and she couldn't suppress a genuine chuckle. “I would maybe wait a bit longer with that. While I’m sure Su and I can be decent bedside companions, Xaronzul can be a lot.”

“Indeed.” Zenozarax nodded theatrically somberly.

“So he’s going to stay, you think?” she asked gently, knowing very well the sensitive nature of that topic.

“He won't go. Not until he’s dead. He made that clear to me.”

“That’s horrible,” Moakatar said, a light tension in her hand. “He can't be fine forgetting all of this. He won't be fine.”

“I know. He learned so much of what he sought for so long now that I’m afraid he can't see how his death here now would only tear him further apart. But… all of that worry will be for naught if we can’t save him before,” he said, finally leading into his reason for being here. “So I need to know what Sukatar has found. All of it

Pelagius II

“It didn't look half as bad when the lights were turned down,” Chief Burton, the cook, said.

“I’m not sure if that was thanks to the light or the level of alcohol,” Pelagius mused as he picked up several glasses from the floor and put them into a small container he carried under his left arm. That nothing had been broken still somewhat casually amazed him.

“Might have been that too,” Burton murmured, unenthusiastically sweeping the floor while one of the Fens dutifully swept up the small piles of trash behind him with an oversized (relative) handshovel. The goblin seemed as lively and bouncy as usual, while the cook, judged on the small eyes and frown, still very much hungover from the night before, seemed in his suffering surprisingly more agreeable and talkative than usual. “Damn Gnash and his dirty drinks. Shouldn't have him talk me into it.”

Pelagius refrained from noting that Burton had seemed to enjoy himself a lot at the party and Gnash’ company on top of that. In fact, it had been the first time Pelagius had come to believe that Burton and his kitchen partner Gnash did not harbour secret, murderous intentions towards each other. So he said, “Speaking of, where is he then?”

“Dead I hope.”

So much for that.

Pelagius brought the box of glasses back into the kitchen, picked up a wet rag and returned to the main hall.

Besides Burton and a few goblins that also helped in the cleanup, there were not many people here. Early breakfast hours were already past for all those who hadn't attended or had important duties in the morning. Those others that finally managed to peel themselves out of their beds sat dispersed at the rim of the restaurant, enjoying a late, very barebones breakfast.

Now and then, some of the new arrivals showed intent to ask Burton about the sorry state of the breakfast buffet, but reconsidered the moment they met his squinting frown.

Pelagius kept idly watching the people around while he wiped down the celebration-marked tables. The party had seemingly also taken out most of the cleaning staff. Burton hadn't asked him to help, but since he was already here he might as well lend a hand as seemingly one of the very few people on this station not suffering a debilitating hangover. Maybe he should check in with the med bay later to find out how many of the humans had accidentally been poisoned by that acid drink Wolla had offered them.

He checked the time. It was close to noon already.

That he hadn't heard anything bad yet was good. Aeven was with Ravalor today. Since Zenozarax hadn't been here Ravalor had started to spend more and more time down in engineering. Officially, he had only the evening shift, but with wizards being wizards, that had extended to most of the day. During one of the conversations yesterday, Ravalor hadn’t exactly offered to take Aeven with him today, but he hadn't objected either once it had come up as a possibility.

It was a good step. And if anythin,g it would give those two some time to talk and give Aeven some normalcy.

Instinctively, Pelagius noticed movement again at the entrance and looked up. He recognised the old man immediately from the picture Ravalor had shown him yesterday. So that was good too; he could tell Ravalor that he wasn't lying dead in his cabin.

The old man met his eyes so suddenly, as if he had felt Pelagius stare at him.

Politely, Pelagius gave him a nod, and the old man returned it, before looking around the room. He proceeded to get himself a hot drink, then headed to the right corner to sit down.

Pelagius frowned lightly as he looked away and returned the dirty rag to the kitchen. He wondered if the old man was here to see Ravalor. He did look like he had been looking for someone and was now waiting.

When returning into the main room, he took a scattered route from table to table collecting some leftover knick-knacks here and there before he almost naturally ended back in the back right corner.

“Good Morning,” he greeted the old man who looked up to him with a mix of surprise and mild annoyance. He obviously wanted some peace and quiet.

“Morning,” the old man said, nevertheless, but with a tone that was more of a question.

“I don't mean to bother you, Sir,” Pelagius said, which was a benign lie. If anything, he had found his calling in sticking his nose into other people's business for better or worse, and he had a title to justify it. “A friend asked me to find out if you’re alright after he hadn't seen you in a while,” Pelagius said, perfectly politely.

That finally seemed to ease some of the tension of the old man. “Oh, I see. Tell him not to worry, then. Here I am, perfectly alive, no?”

“Indeed, you are,” Pelagius smiled reflexively — it was genuine as much as it was meaningless. Just something he did when talking to strangers he didn't trust yet. “I haven't seen you around. Could I inquire your name, perchance? I’m not that long a part of station security, and I try to get to know the people here. My name is Pelagius.” Every time he introduced himself these days, he wondered more and more often if, at some point, he should drop his knight’s name. The knights of Amunthon no longer existed. Treva was gone — as he had said to Aeven, it was who he had been. But the idea of just introducing himself by the name his mother had given him felt even worse. Like killing the last remains of who he thought he was.

The old man considered his inquiry for a moment, then sighed. It was a weird sigh Pelagius couldn't quite place. “Donald Kram.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” The man didn't look like the pleasure was reciprocated, but Pelagius didn't mind that. “You have someone that takes care of you, yes?”

“How old do you think I am, son?”

“I think everyone should have someone in their life that can help out in emergencies,” Pelagius said, elegantly stepping over the laid-out social blunder. “That only becomes more true with age.”

“I have a daughter,” Kram said flatly, probably figuring if he answered Pelagius he might go away quicker.

“That’s good.” Pelagius nodded. “Does she live with you?”

“No.” Their eyes met for a silent moment in which Pelagius debated pushing the conversation further, but the expression in Kram’s face was barely concealed annoyance. The man was not in the mood for chit chat, and this wasn't an interrogation.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Pelagius said eventually.

“If you don't mind me asking, since I’ve not seen him in a long time either, how is your friend then?” Kram asked, keeping him from turning away for a moment.

“He’s quite fine.”

“That's good,” the old man echoed his own words.

“You’re waiting for him?” Pelagius asked. It was close to noon after all, and while his occasional lunch date with Ravalor was still two hours away, it wasn't unusual for Ravalor to be already waiting for him by the time.

Kram gave a mild shrug of his shoulders. “Not particularly. But I enjoy his company. He’s an interesting fella, is he not?” He seemed much more open to talking about Ravalor than himself.

“I think interesting is a fair description, yes.” Pelagius had to agree.

Kram didn't say anything more, and as the silence dragged on, Pelagius finally turned away. He brought the knick-knacks he had collected back into the kitchen and then left the kitchen, this time not towards the main room, but into the back hallway.

A sense tingled in the back of his mind, suspicion and paranoia alike. It was a still familiar feeling, and it had gotten him killed more than once already. The same feeling that got him into this whole mess in the first place.

His mistrust in others and strangers in particular wasn't his most flattering quality, but the last years hadn't exactly given him a reason to work on becoming a more trusting person.

He had no reason to think the man was lying, but that’s where his mistrusting nature came in and made him assume the old man had done so anyway. About what? And why? He couldn't say yet. Maybe he was sick, maybe he was alone and there was no daughter, maybe he had something to hide. Pelagius just wanted to check and make sure.

He walked quickly up towards the Command Centre of the Edge of the Universe and found Xaronzul there, just as he had hoped.

Xaronzul sat hunched over at the centre console, unusually still, as if he listened to something very intensely.

“Do you have a moment?”

Xaronzul didn't react.

“Xaronzul?”

Xaronzul passively glanced back, then abruptly shot up. “Lords, you’re actually here. Gee, don't startle me like that.”

“I’m — sorry?”

Xaronzul chuckled nervously. “Nah, it’s alright. I was just—” he pointed at the console. “Stuff. Zenozarax stuff.”

“He’s back?”

“Yeah,” Xaronzul said shiftily, seemingly antsy to get back to the console.

“I bet there is a lot he’s wanting to take care of now,” Pelagius said with a nod.

“Oh yeah, the stuff Sukatar has found out about Ravalor, or lack of it, more like it. It’s really weird.”

“I can only imagine. Compared to that, I’m probably just chasing shadows…”

Finally, Xaronzul really looked at him with attention.

“What’s wrong? Do you need help?”

“I do actually, it’s probably very easy for you. There is a man on the station, name’s Donald Kram. Do you know him?”

“I do. Older fellow now. Ex-mechanic, helped out janitorially instead of fully retiring a few years ago. I haven't seen him in a while,” Xaronzul recalled.

“Does he have family left?”

“The wife died about ten years ago. His daughter is still here, but they are not close. And then there is some extended family, brother and the like too, on the colony fleet.”

“Do you have a picture of him?”

Xaronzul raised his brows but turned to the console, and after a few seconds, some pictures appeared. Most of a much younger man of the past. Pelagius stepped closer, looking at the picture. His frown deepened.

“Did he …do something?” Xaronzul finally gave into curiosity.

“He spoke with Ravalor a few times. And I just met him down in the restaurant,” Pelagius said.

“Okay?”

“Can you see what he’s doing?”

“We don't have any cameras in private quarters if that’s what you mean. But I can track him in the rest of the station, visually,” Xaronzul said, “But why?”

“Ravalor mentioned him to me. And I think… that’s relevant,” Pelagius said carefully. “He’s not very straightforward anyway, and with his prophecy in the mix — It might just be a friendly old man trying to make a friend, but I just like to be sure that’s it. ”

“Hey, no problem. You’re Sec right, being a bit paranoid is part of the job description innit?” Xaronzul put his hand on the console, and the light runes on his hands started to glow.

It was barely a couple of seconds after when Xaronzul said: “Huh.” It was a horribly telling Huh. “This is…odd.”

“Can you show me?”

“Yeah…” a few panels appeared with several high camera views. “This up there is the first time Ravalor went down with that vision of his, and there is Kram.” Just having greeted Ravalor walking past, looking back down at the unconscious body of Ravalor on the ground, then continuing.

“And here in the Restaurant when he came down with the Remnant.” Ravalor sat across Kram, who watched him as the wizard started to uncontrollably glow with ancient magic.

“They did talk a few times in the Restaurant before and after, but besides that, he hasn't been out of his cabin much at all since…” Xaronzul said and paused.

“Since?”

But instead of answering Xaronzul zoomed in as much as possible at the best view he could find of Donald Kram.

“Oh no…” Xaronzul said, under no more than a shaken breath.

“What?”

“It’s not him. That’s not Donald Kram. Oh fuck—” Xaronzul drove his fingers through his hair before snapping into action, downright slamming his hand back onto the console.

“I need you guys up here.”

Aeven I

Aeven had been on a few magical ships during his time in the army, but his stays on these vessels of the wizards had always been tightly controlled. At no point had he ever been allowed anywhere close to the mechanical, or well, magical, heart and structure of those ships. Asking questions had been pointless, too. Sometimes, he had just been very politely reminded that he was not a wizard and hence he should stop poking his nose into wizard things, but most of the time, Bepazulux had used a much more devious tactic: distraction.

It had taken a little while, being on this station now, following Ravalor, before his natural curiosity had finally broken through those tampered expectations.

“What’s behind there then?” He nodded to the biggest door in the circular hall. All other “doorways” leading out of the room were wide open blast doors that could be used to cut off any fires or atmospheric leaks. Just the big one was firmly closed.

The area, while deep within the station's bowls, was quiet beyond a light pulsing hum. Along the side of the door strips of iridescent light ran from the bottom to the ceiling, and first at second glance Aeven had realised it being very thick, probably tinted windows into the bright room behind.

With every increase of the hum, those windows and even the metal panelled walls emitted a glistening of light particles, shimmering for a few seconds before vanishing again.

“The station's primary heart. I haven't been allowed in there myself; it’s probably doing something with chaos magic, I imagine.” Ravalor picked up a bag from a smooth counter to the side. There was still an audible reservation in merely uttering the word chaos Aeven could fully relate to. “It has to be turned off completely before one can enter.”

“Makes sense,” Aeven said, watching the glimmer of light again sparkling from the walls. It looked pretty, while being almost certainly vaporisingly deadly for anyone inside that chamber. Even after everything Ravalor had told him about basically the state of the entire multiverse, he still had no deeper understanding of what made chaos magic so different to plain magic, so all he was left with were the decades of warning that made him feel uneasy, no matter how pretty it looked.

“Can you take that box?”

“Sure. What’s next then?” Aeven pushed the heavy wrench into the side hoop of the utility belt he had been given and then picked up the crate Ravalor had pointed out. It was lighter than it looked.

“Wolla is waiting for us on the third level. There was some minor flooding the other day and apparently some deeper damage was responsible.”

“Is it bad?”

“Not by the sound of it. A bit of water damage or any cracked pipe won't bring a station like this down. There are always redundancies.”

Aeven followed Ravalor out of the room, his last words weirdly sticking in his mind in the new context he had about wizards.

For most of his life, wizards had been maybe a bit weird, more than that, somewhat alien, but nothing he couldn't believe the universe had evolved over billions of years. Odd, powerful, advanced way ahead of any other civilisation he knew — but in the end, still, clearly humanoid, just like the elves, dwarves, trolls, and other aliens that populated the empire.

Now he understood that he had been wrong in ways he couldn't have imagined possible. The whole of reality had shifted into a grim and overwhelming new light that placed the wizard not at humanity's side, but far above it, rulers of the cosmos reducing life itself to subjects of their overreaching rule.

Aeven's eyes rested on the back of Ravalor's head as they walked.

At no point had Ravalor said the word, but the context of it was clear enough. They were no humans, no matter how they looked. They were machines. Build for a purpose. Build with redundancies.

This Part of Ravalor wasn't the one he had known in Treva, who had sent him to his death.

This Part of Ravalor wasn't the one he had met in Overmoor, who had left him burning in the Chasm of Rodenborg.

But he was Ravalor.

Dozens of philosophical debates in his youth came to mind, all of which he now presumed had gently guided him to naturally accept the aliveness and personhood of a truly artificial being, one not born, but created. But Aeven would like to think he would never have doubted in the first place. No matter what Ravalor was, he was a person with his own fears, faults, and wishes; there was no doubt about that in his mind.

Even when those fears and wishes were still rather opaque to Aeven.

“You’ll have to return to the rest of you eventually, right?” Aeven asked.

Ravalor didn't stop; in fact, he didn't react at all for a solid 10 seconds, during which Aeven, who doubted he hadn't heard him, had to assume Ravalor was ignoring the question. Eventually, however, he said:

“I don't think this Part… this version of this Part can. With everything I know, I couldn't stay in Mezchinhar.”

“So you would forget all this?”

“I have to.”

“Or they kill you instead?”

“...”

Aeven took that as a yes. “You would also forget that I'm still alive,” he tried to sound neutral, but probably failed. It was hard not to let his feelings be coloured by resentment. Ravalor hadn't known he was alive; he was not to blame for the torture he had endured within the fires of Rodenborg, at least not directly. But willfully forgetting about it again felt like betrayal.

Aeven realised the tingle of anger, and took a deep breath the moment Ravalor finally stopped and turned around to him. He looked like he wanted to say something — but didn't.

“It’s not right,” Aeven said factually, neutrally, he hoped, as he put down the crate he still carried. He had his hands free now and suddenly questioned why he had put down the crate in the first place. He didn't want to fight Ravalor, least of all physically.

“I can’t force this onto them,” Ravalor said, evidently ignorant about Aeven’s internal struggle.

“So what, you just going to kill yourself because you became someone you don't like?”

Ravalor stared at him, if anything, downright bewildered. Maybe even in denial still. He looked hurt, and Aeven was sorry for how sharp his words had been. He used to be better at this.

“It’s not that,” Ravalor snapped back, and Aeven was now sure he had hit a very sore nerve there. Or wire, for that matter.

“Then explain to me why you need to die and forget all this, just to return to a life that would kill you if you didn't?” Aeven asked as calmly as he could, just to counter the danger of an emotionally filled argument they were barreling towards. He felt that foreign temper within him rise too. It was still unfamiliar to him, but he knew he couldn't give in to it. So he quickly added before Ravalor had a chance to answer: “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you are as much you as they are, right? The rest of you?”

“Not— It’s not that simple.”

“Then explain it to me, please. I’m not trying to fight you here.”

Ravalor seemed reluctant, but Aeven saw that he had at least mildly defused the argument at hand.

“It’s in the name. I’m a Part of Ravalor. I’m not, and I can't be, Ravalor on my own. And they can't be without me.”

“Then how can you justify just forgetting all this?”

Ravalor shook his head; he seemed almost disappointed.

“I don't want to die, Aeven. I don't want to forget again. But this — I can't just make this decision for the rest of me. I can't just force them into it.”

Aeven frowned. There was a certain way Ravalor spoke about his other Parts now that was different. Like, despite everything he said before, he suddenly drew a hard line between himself and them.

“You are Ravalor, though,” he said carefully. “You act like everything you did here is something they wouldn't do, but that can't be right if you are all Part of the same person.”

Ravalor didn't answer for a while. The worst was that he looked like he wanted to agree, but Aeven already knew he wouldn't.

“It’s not that simple,” Ravalor eventually said and turned away. “We should get going.”

“I’m getting that…” Aeven murmured as he picked up the crate again.

Dissatisfied, he trotted after Ravalor, mulling over what else he could have said. He understood this to be a very sensitive topic, of course it was, they were literally talking about Ravalor’s death.

A quick tapping of steps came from before them before Wolla Tarnax appeared around the next corner. With her ears perked up high and eyes wide, she seemed highly alert. As Aeven had come to suspect already at breakfast today, the goblins seemed utterly unfazed by the copious amounts of alcohol that had been consumed last night. Wolla herself looked as fresh and awake as a goblin could, Aeven thought based on very limited experience.

“There you are!” she said. She also sounded downright angry and undeniably relieved at the same time. “I was starting to worry!”

“I’m sorry,” Ravalor said stiffly. “We were held up.”

“Then hurry up now, come now, come now!” She waved them on to pick up the pace even as she had to jog along to their strides.

Aeven watched the small goblin as he noticed her falling behind to jog next to him on purpose.

“Will you be joining us more often now, Aeven?” she asked, looking up to him with genuine curiosity.

Aeven managed somewhat of a weak smile. “Maybe. I’m not much of a mechanic, though.”

“None of you are at first,” she said with a grim nod. With the few things he had picked up about goblins, it took Aeven a moment to realise that she meant all humans. “But you can learn!”

“That’s true,” he conceded and appreciated the simple wisdom in those words. It didn't matter who he used to be or who he thought himself to be — he could learn and become a new version of himself. He could be a mechanic if he wanted. However— “But I don't think he would quite enjoy that currently,” he said quietly and nodded to Ravalor in front of them.

“What? Why wouldn't he?” Wolla seemed genuinely bewildered.

“I think I’m pestering him with a few too many questions.”

Now it was pure horror in Wolla’s face. Aeven understood why as she whispered, “But we all do that.”

“I’m not annoyed with either of you,” Ravalor said, sounding rather annoyed. He didn't stop, nor did he turn around.

What Wolla did next happened so quickly, and so naturally too, that Aeven was too surprised to react surprised, as the small goblin jumped up and climbed up his back to his shoulder.

He tensed up, nevertheless, even though at no point was Wolla hurting him. No claws dug into his skin nor any foot stemmed into his sides, just momentum and strength. By north, if anything, Aeven was startled by how light she was. Wolla wasn’t even half as tall as him and maybe fifteen to twenty kilos soaking wet at best.

At the same time, he was impressed by the ease and strength with which Wolla had pulled herself up and held herself, only by one arm, over his right shoulder.

He was also, unfortunately, extremely uncomfortable.

“He sounds annoyed,” Wolla confirmed in a whisper in his ear. “What did you do?”

Aeven sighed. Of course, this kind of teasing wasn't really helping, but it was at least airing out some of his own frustration about the situation. But now that he was here, it felt childish even to him.

“It doesn't matter now,” he said to Wolla’s dismay.

“This will do neither of you any good!” She exclaimed, clearly directed at both of them. This made Ravalor finally stop and turn around. “This won't do the station any good either. If you two don't get along, I can't have you down here together.” She let herself slip down Aeven, who had halted in his steps.

He was surprised by the strictness in her voice. But he was getting it. It may be menial work, but in a closed, remote system like this, everything was important, and mistakes could be deadly. But before he could say anything, Ravalor spoke,

“I’m sorry,” he said, and by the discomfort in his voice, he was genuine about it. “Aeven, everything you said is valid and true. But what am I to do about it? I’m just exhausted, and there is so much in my head — It’s hard to properly think things through.”

“To be fair, it’s an insane topic in the first place,” Aeven said in relief and shrugged. “We don't have to do this today. Me tagging along, I mean. If you want to get some sleep?”

Ravalor smiled weakly, but it didn't reach his eyes. “That won't help. I haven't really slept since I left Mezchinhar.”

“That was … over a year ago, right?”

“Yes. And I have all these memories stuck in my head, but sleep won't help if I can't share them with the rest of myself.” Ravalor's shoulders dropped ever so slightly, a heartbreakingly defeated motion. “We really should just continue. I’m no better or worse than I was yesterday or as I will be tomorrow.”

Aven looked at Wolla, he felt like if anyone would need to approve of the proposal, then it was her. Her ears dropped, but she nodded nevertheless.

“That’s fine. You’ve been a great help!” Wolla said, jogging up to the front and Aeven saw a weak smile on Ravalor's face as he turned around. “But I will have an eye on both of you!”

Ravalor II

“Aeven, do you still have that torque-wand?” Ravalor called up the shaft to the bright opening above him. The maintenance shaft was lit in dim red lighting, but naturally he didn't need any further light with him to properly see.

“The what now?” Aeven's head appeared in the opening.

“The thing I gave you earlier.”

“The wrench?”

“If you want to call it that, yes, the wrench.”

“What do you mean if I want to call it that? It acts like a wrench, so it is a wrench.”

“Would you give it to me?”

“Here you go.” Aeven reached back and handed it back down. Ravalor took the hefty goblin tool and handed it further down to Wolla. The goblins seemed to have a whole array of tools that were basically force multipliers in one way or another, deploying physics, mechanics and magic alike to compensate for their own weight and size.

“Thank you,” Wolla said, “Tell me when it hiccups, alright.”

“I’m listening,” Ravalor confirmed, as he pressed his hand against the wall in front of him. Through it he felt the resonance of the station, and between that the hum of magic and electricity. As he heard the slow churn of a valve below the lines behind the wall started to flow slowly at first, increasing with every turn of the valve. There were monitoring systems in place that Wolla tracked on her side, but Ravalor listened for what would not immediately show up on the sensors. Small disharmonies in the resonance, cracking, hissing, dripping. It took experience on how to interpret the messy information and attention to the smallest abnormalities — something he was quite good at. The Kingmaker was too, as it was a specialized engineering task these memories were the strongest with them.

“Hold on,” he said, listening more closely. “You were right to worry. I think the pipe is cracked further up as well. Not a leak yet, but enough for some unusual turbulence within the flow. About 100 meters up I’d say.”

“Curse it!” Wolla said passionately and Ravalor felt lightly amused by the very wizard-y exclamation. “Wait here, let me see.” She climbed up and consequently over Ravalor, past Aeven, shoving the torque-wand back into his hand, and disappeared in the light bend of the shaft uptop.

For a moment thereafter was silence with only the faint hum of the station around them. But as Aeven had regained some aspects of his former self within the last weeks, the silence didn't last very long.

“Have you heard anything about the others? The other you and me, I mean,” Aeven asked, squatting at the opening above, looking down to him.

“They should be safe,” Ravalor said.

“Should be?”

Ravalor considered for a moment if he wanted to tell Aeven about the current situation and the consequent fact that he knew way less than he would like too. But he had already made it a point to tell Aeven more about himself than he had anyone else ever, and even when he still felt very reluctant to, he best kept to it. Aeven was affected by all this after all too.

“There was a concern that Quadirymir might be trying to get to me, more precisely my Warrior. Probably because Quadirymir knows of my relationship to Zenozarax. But we concluded they should be safe as long as he is with the other Aeven. Because he still has the Hammer.”

“Hmhm.” Aeven rolled the torque-wand in his hands. “Can you tell if they would be in trouble? Even now?”

“There is a deeper connection, beyond memories, yes. I would feel if one of them died for example. But not which one.” That was a half truth. The paradoxical connection they shared wouldn't tell him immediately which one had died, but watching his own behaviour change as he would subconsciously compensate for a part that was truly missing would give him some clues eventually.

It was why he was almost certain his Scholar, the Hermit, had been rebuilt very recently. Something in his subconscious had shifted. He felt a little more sure of himself, felt it a bit easier to trust the people around him. But also he felt his own judgmental nature strengthened and he worried it may prove counter effective. As the Part he was he had always been the most opinionated, the strongest in his stance, that was his nature which was to be balanced by the facets of his other parts. Without that counter weight he would always be in danger of acting on his own impulses, only seeing the black and white of things.

Maybe that was his problem right now, oscillating between the binary of him dying to keep himself alive and staying alive just to get himself killed, unable to conceptualize an alternative because he was so sure there wasn't an alternative. But even that thought was a mere haze in his sleep deprived mind.

“Hmhm.” Another twirl of the torque-wand in Aeven’s hand. “I think they are alright, too.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I’ve been… dreaming,” Aeven started slowly. “Did he tell you about the nightmares I had?”

“Pelagius did,” Ravalor confirmed, where Aeven had undoubtedly meant Zenozarax.

“Ah. Yeah — makes sense.” Aven nodded. “See, the odd thing is, they have almost completely stopped. Which is good, I’m not complaining about that. But it’s odd, because they stopped so abruptly. Within one week I’d say. And I’ve been trying to figure out why. I’m still thinking about it, I even still dream about it sometimes, but it’s different now.”

It was indeed a fact that puzzled not only Aeven, but the rest of them too. Zenozarax credited Ravalor for this change in Aeven but Ravalor strongly doubted it. Neither of them was an expert in the field but as far as Ravalor knew, humans didn't just snap out of a trauma induced psychosis just because someone talked to them the one time. That would be a bit too easy.

“I figured I’m still connected to the Hammer. I mean I know I am, I know she is still there, out there somewhere. Maybe connected but disconnected like you are with your other parts, right?” Aeven asked rhetorically, because he just continued. “And I think I am connected to that other Aeven as well. And there was something wrong with him and there was something wrong with me too. Like three not fitting gears grinding against each other. Badly.”

Ravalor had studied these artefacts long enough to not doubt a word Aeven was saying. In fact he felt a faint spark of genuine fascination beneath his exhaustion. It would have been the point were the Hermit might have thrown his desire for peace and quiet over board just to really press Aeven on every detail. He, the Stargazer, could only do him poor justice in his current condition. “There seemed to have been some troubles with the other Aeven, yes. I can’t tell what kind, but the Warrior seeked out another artefact of the Lords to heal him as it seems.That was when the Remnant took over me.”

“Hmm.” Aeven frowned, staring straight ahead at the opposite wall. “It doesn't quite line up… there had to be something else. I think whatever they did worked, because this connection I feel mostly in my dreams has completely changed now. It’s calm now.” He sounded thoughtful, almost nostalgic as he added, “I sometimes wake up now, and I feel like I was there. Like I woke up on the wrong ship suddenly. I couldn't tell you any details, but it feels like a part of me is there, on the Northforce. And I wonder if he feels it too.”

“I wouldn't be surprised,” Ravalor mused. “But I don't think, without the knowledge of your existence, that he can really understand what that feeling is.”

“Aye.” Aeven looked back down at him quietly for a moment. “It’s weird to think that he is me. That I am out there all over again.”

Ravalor slightly shook his head. “You’re not.” Aeven rose his brows. “Maybe you were, technically, for but a split second there existed two versions of the same person that was Aeven VonTreva. But you’re not like two Parts of a wizard. Your memories diverged that very moment into dramatically different directions — and even if you were to meet you wouldn't merge into one single mind again.” Ravalor said that with an amount of certainty he, as he realised the moment he said it, had no proper reason for. He couldn't even begin to predict what the Hammer might do. The Hammer had always appeared fondly benign towards Aeven, but with the unknowable nature of it, there was no reason to assume, should they put all three into a room, the Hammer would not suddenly rectify the double Aeven situation by simply merging the two and one dropping dead right there. But that wasn't a concern he was ready to raise just yet. So he said instead: “Genetically you may be identical, but you are fundamentally two different persons now.”

“Yeah. That makes sense,” Aeven said with the slow care of a man that had grappled with his own sense of identity for a while. “But not to the Hammer. For her we’re still the same.”

“I FOUND IT!” Wolla’s shout echoed distantly through the shaft and startled both of them properly. “FIXING IT NOW!”

“Great!” Ravalor called up. Then there was silence again and he returned his attention back to Aeven.

“I think you underestimate that artefact.”

“I am?” Aeven smirked lopsidedly.

“I think it would be very aware of the duality of the two of you. It’s almost impossible to prescribe motivation to these artefact, because they are so alien even to us wizards, but they are intelligent. If it chooses to stay connected to the both of you, it did so deliberately, not by accident.”

Aven nodded, then chuckled humorously “God I wish she were here now.”

“I can only imagine.”

“From all you told me, I think you can do more than that.”

“Maybe true.” It was possible afterall. With all that magic that had entangled itself into this Aeven as much as the other one, it was easy to believe that he was now firmly lodged into a frankly mind boggling web of magical connections, including not only those two and the Hammer, but also through the Knife Pelagius and Zenozarax, and thought Zenozarax to him, Ravalor, too. They were so firmly intertwined now that Ravalor knew, even should he choose to return to Mezchinhar, this connection would eventually come back to haunt him in one way or another. Just as the connection to Zenozarax always had. For better or for worse.

He raised his hand to listen to the station again, listening to what Wolla was doing. Looking at his own hand made the deep empty feeling within him grow, as thinking about that connection made him long for it a thousand times more. There had been so much suffering because of it and yet he wanted just to feel it again.

He listened to the station again with his hand again placed onto the wall, and he already felt that disturbance from before having vanished. Wolla was mostly if not already done and probably just finished up.

He turned around and pulled himself up the ladder steps. Aeven had stood up and now, naturally without second thought most likely, offered his hand to Ravalor. And Ravalor, as it wasn't like he hadn't enough time to think about it, just took it and let Aeven pull him up. Immediately, because Aeven, just like Pelagius, had no concept of what wizards colloquially called “connection control”, Ravalor felt the magical entity that was Aeven tingle through the magic of his own hand. Aeven too would feel his presence just the same, but he was as used to it as Pelagius was.

For Ravalor it felt still novel. A little dangerous too. But it was an inevitable fact of their existence. And as such, it felt also … healthy. Whether either of them liked it, whether or not either of them had wanted it in the first place was irrelevant now. There was only acceptance left. And doing so there was an unfamiliar confidence in just this single touch. A little hope no matter how uncalled for.

“Good grief, you are exhausted,” Aeven noted, sounding genuinely worried as he pulled his hand back.

“Funny. That was actually the last thing I was just thinking about. It seems that has just become my defining resonance,” Ravalor said drily.

A shuffling sound came from the shaft and moments later Wolla swung out of the maintenance shaft.

“You checked it?”

“I did. It sounds good now,” Ravalor confirmed.

“Fantastic.” She turned around and shoved the massive (compared to her) panel back in front of the shaft entrance where it snapped easily into place. She looked it in place with a swipe of her wristtap which triggered the bolds to lock the panel in place.

“Now, who’s up for a quick bite? I’m ravenous,” Wolla said, already marching on assuming the answer of both of them to be yes.

Since it was already noon it wasn't a bad idea for at least Aeven to grab something to eat. And while Ravalor wouldn't eat, he didn't want to be alone right now, because he knew the silence would only drag him back into the void. So he tagged along as well.

Zenozarax II

Zenozarax stared at the image before him while through the connection to the console the security footage Xaronzul had gathered was laid out in excruciating detail — he knew it by heart already, every move and every shift. But he stared at that image because otherwise it didn't seem real. He saw that man before him and he saw what Xaronzul had seen. And he didn't want it to be true.

“Is there any chance it’s not him?” he finally asked, his own voice sounding distant to himself. Wasting time with denial. He was looking mainly at Mokatar and in extension Sukatar who couldn't be here right now. But she probably should, if this was true. If this fight had finally come, he wanted, needed, her at his side.

Xaronzul was pacing across the room. He didn't look good; scared and nervous, like reality itself had broken around him. Zenozarax wanted to tell him everything would be fine but he couldn't. Even well meant it would probably be a lie. Pelagius’ eyes lay on him. Careful, waiting. Zenozarax could see it in his eyes that he very clearly understood the situation. And he was ready to act whatever happened next, awaiting orders.

“He was one of the Twilight when the Dawnbreak was attacked — maybe the trauma, the shock… that can change people,” Moakatar said weakly. But just a second after that she added, after a heavy breath, what sounded more like Sukatar's sober and cutting objection, “But the Twilights systems were malfunctioning at exactly that time. Displaying the board manifest with duplicates. If there was ever a moment for Quadirymir to sneak onto that ship, it was after he forced heavy damage and repairs onto the Twilight, manipulating the system, and using that glitch to probably kill Donald Kram and take his place.”

Unfortunately, it was a very, very logical turn of events as retrospectively, all Quadirymir had done had a crystal clear motive behind it.

He should have known it.

It was so obvious now.

He looked back at the man, Donald Kram, who was most certainly dead by now. He looked at that face: it was not perfect, but it was close enough to be convincing. But the longer Zenozarax looked at him the more he saw the underlying form of the old man. The Part of Quadirymir that had helped free him from Charon. This disguise wasn't a one to one match, because it was quickly made, an adjustment to the previous form, not a completely new build. A compromise no doubt due to time constraints, but it had been good enough to ruin everything.

Quadirymir was here.

On his station.

For weeks.

A nauseating feeling bloomed in his core as the mere presence of this wizard sullied the pristine idea of what the Edge of the Universe had been. The Edge of the Universe had been a haven, a place far away from Quadirymir, a place he could call home. A place that had been safe.

Quadirymir's presence had from one moment to another destroyed all of that and turned it instead into a ticking timebomb.

From this blossoming nausea, tendrils of fear and consequently anger sprouted, threatening to strangle him if he didn't act immediately.

— Think about it. It all makes sense, but he still wants something.

All of them looked at him. His Wizard too, still on the Dark Citadel, on the enemy's ground, with the other Parts of Xaronzul, Moakatar and Sukatar. All of them aware. But that was exactly why the Wizard urged for caution.

“Let’s handle this carefully,” Zenozarax finally said, fighting his own rushing thoughts at every word. “He has been here for weeks, we shouldn't escalate this situation immediately. He will realize we know sooner rather than later one way or another. Chances are good we can't even trust the internal communication anymore. Already now, with you—” he nodded to Pelagius, “—talking to him and next all of us gathering here might tell him enough to suspect.”

There were various levels of unease about that fact, the frown on Pelagius face deepened with a light shake of the head, Moakatar looked nothing but distraught, Xaronzul muttered a curse under his breath.

Moakatar spoke next, calm and detached, “In what little time we have we have to ready both Su and Tash’ Parts on the Dark Citadel to be evacuated.” She paused before saying the quiet part out loud: “Evacuating them now could still damage them. Especially Su. Tash will be most likely fine, he’s almost done.”

“I’ll be with Sukatar, you stay with Xaronzul,” he said to Moakatar, Xaronzul had stepped up to her listening closely. While Zenozarax continued speaking Moakatar took Xaronzul's trembling hand the moment he was close enough without ever taking her eyes from Zenozarax. “Teleport your part directly into the medbay. He’ll be fine there. I’ll be with Sukatar. We’ll have to temporarily store her in suspension till we are safe again.”

Zenozarax glanced back at the picture of who was no longer Donald Kram.

“He will want to use this. He’s not here to cause a fight — even though he has earned one.” Zenozarax frowned. “If he wanted us dead, we would already be dead. He’s putting us back at our place. We tried to beat him at his own game and failed. All this, what he knows, his presence here, is to remind us that our lives are at his mercy.” It was at best an educated guess but he said it firmly enough to sound factual. He looked back at the others. “Everyone on this station is in danger.”

“So what do we do? Submit to him?” Xaronzul asked with a sneer. The nervous twitching of his body had calmed now that Moakatar kept his hand firmly in hers, calming his agitated mind. It didn't take all the fear from his voice however.

“Not yet. First we need to establish if he suspects anything. I will talk to Ravalor, inform him of the situation. He needs to stay away from him at all costs so it’s best if he’s not on the station at all. I think Quadirymir will continue to try and get to Ravalor's other parts. If he gets hold of him, there is nothing I can do against him.” Zenozarax remembered all too vividly the debilitating pain when, for but a short while, he had thought to have lost Ravalor forever. “Where is he now?”

“He’s been in engineering with Tarnax. Taking Aeven with him,” Xaronzul said, almost reluctantly leaving Moakatar for the console, but Pelagius interjected before he had fully finished his sentence.

“It’s noon. He might be heading to the Restaurant now. Kram— Quadirymir was still there when I left. It’s not been that long.”

“Xaronzul?”

“They are there,” Xaronzul confirmed with dread in his voice, as the live video feed from the restaurant showed up on the screens. Back on the right corner there was Ravalor and Aeven, one of the Tarnax’ was with them, Wolla Tarnax, from Engineering. And the old man wearing Donald Kram’s face.

Sickening fear fueled the anger in his core like gasoline poured into an open flame, tightening his chest till he felt it was just about to crush his heart. For weeks this had happened, for weeks nothing had come of it. But that could change any moment. His breath shuddered.

“Get your parts ready now. Carefully. The Twilight needs to be on standby too, ready to jump. Use the emergency port points only and cut her off from everything else,” he said to Moakatar, then turning to Xaronzul, “Can we jump if we have to?”

“Station will be ready, on your mark. But we need the people to be ready too.”

“Not yet. Everything you do needs to be as quiet as possible. Keep an eye on him, me and Ravalor. If at any point things appear to escalate, run emergency drills on the med bay and sec to get them ready if we have to jump without prep.”

Xaronzul nodded. “Acknowledged.”

“You come with me,” he said to Pelagius. And even when he was no longer able to really command Pelagius to do anything, the determination in the former knight's face made it clear enough that while Pelagius would never mourn Zenozarax' demise, he would go to hell and back to keep the other people around him safe. If those accidentally included Zenozarax he would accept it as an unfortunate overlap.

“Of course.” And he followed him promptly. “What do you plan to do?” Pelagius asked as they quickly walked down the corridor.

“I’ll get Ravalor and Aeven out of there,” he said, trying to keep his tone free of his anger, and knew he earned the more than skeptical frown on Pelagius’ face. “I know this might escalate the situation, but if it does, he already suspected something and I would rather get ahead of it in that case. If he doesn't react and lets me take them, that would be ideal. Then we know we have at least some time, no matter how little. But if he’s already suspicious, I need to get them out of here now before he suddenly decides to kidnap either of them as a bargaining chip,” he explained with a hushed voice.

Some of that seemed to make sense to Pelagius because he didn't object, instead he asked, “Can’t you warn them? Send them a message?”

Zenozarax raised his brows, because it wasn't like he hadn't considered doing so himself. “Should I? Sure, Ravalor can sell a lie or pretense if you don't know him very well, Aeven can not, but Quadirymir will pick up if anything is off. No matter how small.” He shook his head, frustrated. He felt a dangerous sense of powerlessness. He stopped walking, they had reached the static exchange node of this level, and Pelagius followed suit. “I know the safest thing would be to wait for them to leave the restaurant on their own, but…” he looked down the corridor and back to Pelagius whose frown had only deepened. No longer in doubt, but understanding.

“The risk is too high,” Pelagius concluded. “Even if nothing has happened this whole time, there is a chance he will act right now.”

Zenozarax nodded, and there was something unexpectedly reassuring having Pelagius of all people agree with him. Afterall, he was in a tight race with Aeven to take the top spot of the list of people hating him from the bottom of their hearts. But of course, Pelagius was too level headed to let that colour his judgment, especially in a case where his own well being was at stake.

“I need all three of you out of here immediately. Away from the station, out of his reach when he makes his demands.”

“What then? Playing this out till the end, with all he has done, he will never have your loyalty,” Pelagius said, as if to confirm Zenozarax' musing.

“He won't need it if he has one, or worse, all of you.” Zenozarax nodded behind Pelagius into the exchange node with the static portals connecting throughout the station. “That’s why you need to be on the Twilight too.”

“I can't just leave!”

“You must. I won't hand him all leverage on a silver platter. Every one here will be much safer once all of you are off the station.”

Pelagius did not object again.

Ravalor III

That the old man was here in the restaurant was a little bit unfortunate as far as Ravalor was concerned, but since he wasn't left alone with him, and Aeven and Wolla easily carried any conversation, it wasn't too bad. He felt more uncomfortable right now than the situation justified, but objectively, it was fine. At least he told himself so. However, instead of calming, it just made him more nervous by the second.

The old man had been here when they had arrived and promptly waved them over. Ravalor had been somewhat relieved to see him alive. Having been told by the man that he was mostly alone had made Ravalor feel somewhat obligated, as the one person he was talking to, to take note of his absence and inquire into his well-being. But the relief was not so great as to foster any greater desire for conversation.

He caught himself already gauging the best moment to excuse himself without coming off as too rude. He had thought once everyone was done eating it would be fine, but then Wolla had gone for seconds before Aeven had finished his plate fully.

Now Wolla came back from the noon-buffet, balancing an oversized food tray in her arms. There were smaller ones. There was nothing on this station that hadn't goblin appropriately sized options, from ladders, seating areas, food and even shops, and yet this was far from the first time he saw a goblin ignore these accommodations. Maybe Wolla did it out of a sense of fitting in, but maybe just because the large trays were able to fit a lot more food. Frankly, an amount of food he wasn't sure where it could possibly go in a body so small.

She put the tray on the table and climbed back up the seat.

“You were on the Twilight ke?” Wolla asked the old man when she started eating (again). “I think I remember you!”

The old man nodded, “I used to. Just cleaning up some. Not anymore; The knees getting pretty bad.”

“Why not get new ones?” Aeven asked, even when he sounded more passively interested. He was now done eating. “My old captain, on the Somerville,” he added as context for Ravalor who would be the only one to recognize the ship name, “—had gotten new ones at like… 40? Very early. But it was all good then.”

“At this point I fear I’d need a new body to fix every little ache and pain,” the old man said with a light shrug of the hands.

“I’ll never understand why you humans keep on living so long just to get so broken,” Wolla mused undoubtedly not trying to be insensitive but not really thinking about it much either. The old man, Don, as Wolla had called him earlier, just ignored her. Aeven however, peaked up.

“How long do Goblins live?”

“Well,” Wolla tilted her head right and left after swallowing another bite of her steak. “Physically, about 10 years.” She nodded at Aeven's almost shocked disbelief when he echoed “10?” And then continued unbothered, “Spiritually, I’ll have children in about two or three years and they will be with me till this body dies. They take my memories with them so I continue. As a child of Tarnax, I’m about 2020 years old.” She explained factually and willingly, downright delighted at Aeven's genuine, if not mildly unnerved curiosity. “I became Tarnax when we joined Zenozarax and split from Jindejix, who I was before. And way before that, before Yaryax became king, I was Weidade. But It’s not proper to make claims of memories that are that old.”

Ravalor listened passively as Wolla, at Aeven's inquiry, continued to explain that even with their ancestral memories, things that old were just really unreliable to recount, but being able to show a clear family codex reaching that far back still carried a lot of prestige. She drew out the “lot” in that sentence to a comical degree which made Aeven smile. Ravalor met the old man's eyes for a moment, and thought he looked a bit bored.

“Have you decided what to do?” The old man asked him, ignoring the ongoing conversation of Aeven and Wolla.

“About staying?” Ravalor asked just to delay. He felt tired talking about it. He didn't want to talk about it. But he probably had to accept that till he really took a clear stance on what he intended to do, people would just keep asking.

The old man nodded.

“No. Not really.” He thought he had but wasn't so sure anymore. Passively glancing over to Aeven and Wolla in their energised discussion he felt like there was an allegory in that image somewhere about crossing bridges and overcoming prejudice. If now only Ravalor could find that bridge while everything before him looked like an endless impassible chasm.

“Hm.” Don nodded again, like he had expected nothing else. “I think you should try and find that answer sooner rather than later. Before anyone forces you into one.”

“What do you mean?” Ravalor frowned lightly.

“I feel like that kind of decision, you ought to make yourself. Otherwise you’ll always have a reason to resent it. Look at your friends,” the old man mused quietly. “There is a difference between chaos wizards that left because they chose to, and those that were forced out. Maybe that is already too late for you, but you still have agency. You still have a choice.”

Ravalor almost scoffed. It was a choice alright, with only bad to worse options. Then he paused internally, trying to pass that knee-jerk reaction kind of thinking and reminding himself that it was nothing but counterproductive.

“And I think your time for consideration is running out fast,” the old man added, but he was now looking past him. Ravalor followed his gaze and to his surprise, and concern alike, he saw Zenozarax enter the Restaurant, heading towards them.

Aeven noticed as well and Wolla too once Aeven fell silent.

It was Zenozarax' Warrior again, so he had finished rebuilding himself, obviously. And there were many things Ravalor would want to ask Zenozarax now, especially concerning what he might have learned about his other Parts in the last weeks, but something was wrong. And it wasn't just the hair and beard — which he had apparently not changed much from the moment he had woken up again, which was already odd for someone as obsessed with visual appearance as Zenozarax was.

While the Warrior kept his face near void of any readable expression, which also was remarkable for Zenozarax in the first place, Ravalor knew in that moment beyond a doubt, that something was very, very wrong.

“Is everything alright?” Ravalor asked quietly as Zenozarax had reached them. And immediately he knew he shouldn’t have asked. He saw it in the smallest move in his face, the small twitch in the corner of his mouth. And maybe it was in the way he had asked, maybe it had been the short glance Zenozarax shot the old man, but he could even feel it. More than that, within his mind, suddenly, alarms flared up, like something that had kept him on edge for hours was suddenly screaming at him.

He didn't understand it at that moment.

But somehow he knew he was about to.

“Yeah,” Zenozarax said nevertheless, and it was a lie, “Do you two have a moment?” he asked Ravalor and Aeven. Ravalor looked at Zenozarax when he heard the old man say,

“You should have told me he’s a prophet.”

And Ravalor saw, in that moment, nothing but pure dread in his friends eyes. For a moment, Zenozarax kept looking at Ravalor, as if, if he could only pretend he hadn't heard, it hadn’t happened. And in that moment, Ravalor understood.

“What does it matter to you?” Zenozarax finally looked to the old man, Ravalor now too dreaded to do the same. He felt time crawling as every sense rose into high alert, drawing the entire room into a tactical battleground. With most people still suffering the aftermath of the celebration the prior night there weren't many people here — but still too many. “What more do you really need to know?”

The old man smiled lightly. It was a horrible smile of pure malicious glee. He stood up, and in that moment there was nothing left of the frail and pain ridden movement from before. If there had been any wishful thinking left it was shattered in that moment.

“What’s going on?” Aeven asked tensely, but Ravalor didn't dare to answer it. Still didn't want to believe.

“He’s Quadirymir,” Zenozarax said.

How did this happen? How could this happen? Since when? Ravalor now stared at the old man who was still smiling.

“Took you long enough. Frankly, the security on this station is pathetic. Did you never consider this could happen?” Quadirymir asked, sounding rather disappointed in Zenozarax, while he walked around the table way too casually. Coming way too close. And when he crossed that threshold of halfway past the table Ravalor jumped up as well.

It was that moment when the rest of the Restaurant fell silent. The abrupt movement would have earned him a magical blast to the face from any self-respecting wizard in a situation like this. But he couldn't help it. His core was pulsing hard, every available emergency energy he still got left coursing through his veins.

Quadirymir did not react to it with more than an unimpressed glance. Of course not. Ravalor would barely register as a threat to him.

Zenozarax had not yet taken his eyes from Quadirymir. In the back of his awareness, Ravalor noticed Aeven standing up as well, slowly and carefully, pulling Wolla instinctively behind him.

All this time Quadirymir had been here.

And he had been here because of Ravalor, there was no doubt about that. Every encounter with the old man suddenly recontextualized, and everything his visions had tried to tell him suddenly made sense. All the while he had stared at the wizard that would kill him right in the face without realizing it.

Quadirymir would kill him.

His entire being was electrified by the certainty of the knowledge. He was about to die. Right here right now, no matter how deceptively calm everything still appeared. He felt that escalation just moments away, staring at him, moving ever closer in time, and he couldn't stop it. Didn’t know how to stop it.

Panic took over him whole as he realised the extent of his own helplessness. Standing now between Zenozarax and Quadirymir, two chaos wizards, he couldn't do anything to defend himself. Not against these powers.

He was so on edge that when Zenozarax finally (it had been only seconds he knew that) spoke again, it startled him.

“What do you want?”

Zenozarax III

Zenozarax, beyond the anger and fear, felt the humiliation. Quadirymir was right of course, he should never have assumed this place to be safe. Because no place was. It was something Quadirymir had told him again and again, it was the reality of being a chaos wizard. It was something he had known when he had become a Warrior of the Order, and something he had understood the moment he had left Artlenburg.

And yet, with the hubris that came so easily with dismissing a mentor younger than oneself, over time, he really had come to think of the Edge of the Universe as a safe place. As home.

That horrible smile of absolute content contempt had not vanished from Quadirymir's face as he answered, he didn't have to think long about it, afterall, he had obviously expected this situation sooner rather than later.

“It’s quite simple now, isn't it? You are weak. Compromised. And you lied to me. I’m willing to forgive the latter; it’s a natural thing for us to do after all,” Quadirymir explained calmly, but the smile was vanishing from his face. “But this petulant behaviour of yours will stop now. I’ll let you keep most of your collection of emotional mistakes, I understand their importance to you. But that will come with some concessions on your part. And you will do as you’re told.”

Unwaveringly he met Quadirymir cold stare. None of that came as a surprise. It was what he had expected, if anything it was almost reasonable. And there was nothing he could say that would change any of it. So he asked,

“Did you have the Dawnbreak destroyed?”

“If I let you continue like this, your reckless actions will get us all killed. Not that I care much about the riff raff you have with you, but you are connected to me, too, Zenozarax. I have given you a lot of rope, and as I expected, you are hellbent on hanging yourself with it.” Quadirymir continued like he hadn't even heard him.

“Did you betray us?” Zenozarax asked again.

Finally Quadirymir scoffed. “Betray you? That’s rich coming from you. With him here?” There was no amusement left in the now scolding frown on Quadirymir’s face. “I am letting you walk freely on my station all the while you have him here, STILL connected to Mezchinhar!”

And for a fraction of a second Zenozarax was taken aback by the genuine anger in Quadirymir's tone, because it made him, for the first time, consider the possibility that all this was not just a sadistic plot to cause him as much suffering as possible. It felt like a hefty slap in the face that left him temporarily without any good reply.

“That’s what I thought.” Quadirymir clicked his tongue, like he had read his mind. “Can you, for one second in your life, try and entertain the idea that you are not the centre point of the entire multiverse?”

“Everything is under control. He can be trusted.” Zenozarax said firmly, and it sounded horribly defensive even to his own ears. He had dreaded this moment, imagined the worst outcomes, trying to figure out all the ways out of it — and now he stood here and Quadirymir acted nothing like he had imagined. Zenozarax was still angry, of course he was, but Quadirymir, thus far, wasn't escalating the situation.

Quadirymir had never really trusted him, but right now, he also understood that the risk Quadirymir accused him of taking was very much real. It couldn't justify the death he had caused before he could have even known the nature of Zenozarax’ secret, but he understood that this one time, Quadirymir had a not totally unreasonable point. Still. That only made his own frustration worse.

“Is he now?” But that didn't matter because Quadirymir made another step forward — towards Ravalor. “That is the one problem we still have to take care of.”

“What are you doing?” Zenozarax tensed up, he saw Ravalor back off back slightly, and it was finally now that Zenozarax really saw the terror in Ravalor’s face. As if he needed to be reminded of that horrible prophecy. The fingers of Ravalor’s hands twitched, and as his mind and body were ready for an immediate attack he even saw miniscule flashes of light pulsing sporadically in the veins of izthra beneath his skin.

“Ravalor. Whether you can be trusted or not is irrelevant at this moment. You can't stay here, not like this. Either you truly join him, or you have to die and return to Mezchinhar. You being here, knowing what you know, is going to kill everyone connected to you,” Quadirymir said threateningly low to Ravalor, then glancing at Zenozarax, ”You know I’m right.”

“I can't go back, and I won't,” Ravalor said weakly, a tremble in his voice.

“Then you put your money where your mouth is and commit to it! I didn't believe it was possible, but your arrogance is truly outshining his,” Quadirymir snapped at Ravalor who winced back.

“That’s enough!” Zenozarax barked, while every fiber of his body wanted to tear that wizard to atoms. Quadirymir's eyes met his for a second of pure disdain and hatred. Then Quadirymir started to raise his hand and blinked out of existence, for a split second dissolved into a glimmer of light and shadow, and in that second, Zenozarax looked to Ravalor before he fully computed that Quadirymir stood now right before Ravalor. It happened so quickly a single blink would have missed it. A dizzying and sickening sense of horrible déjà vu pierced through Zenozarax, freezing him into place as he saw Quadirymir's hand grasp Ravalor's throat.

Ravalor didn't even wince, only his eyes widened in shocked surprise, now staring directly into Quadirymir’s face.

“So what is it going to be, Ravalor?”It was at that point where that sick smile returned to Quadirymir’s face. Seeing the shock and terror in Ravalor’s face curled the corner of his lips upward, the sickening delight at Ravalor’s mortal fear — he whispered when he spoke next, by his nature compelled to make it worse. “Doesn't this feel familiar?”

It all happened so quickly, Zenozarax felt like the entirety of his neural network was melting into nothing but useless slag. He had to kill Quadirymir right now. Kill him, jump the station, hide them all, make sure the other Part of Ravalor were safe, the other’s parts—

He started to raise his own hands — it seemed so slow to him as his racing mind expanded his awareness into every millisecond. He saw Quadirymir glance in his direction before his body could follow, bound by the same merciless drag of inertia.

If he did this now they could all die.

Quadirymir would only lose one part.

They could lose everything.

They didn't have the resources.

And the people—

Every second dragged out for an eternity.

Quadirymir would have anticipated the possibility of being killed, which meant that—

Then he met Ravalor's eyes. And he saw something in them that scared him more than anything before. A fatalistic determination. Grim acceptance. A choice made.

And Zenozarax had no time to speak, nothing more than the first vibration of a breathless “Don’t—” passed his lips as already, Ravalor's hand had shot up —

grasping Quadirymir’s wrist —

Reality broke around them.

The moment Ravalor’s hand connected to Quadirymir, the entire magic of his body started to glow violently — so did Quadirymir — and a charge of something exploded from the two of them. A burst of energy so distilled and violent it felt like a thousand exploding stars compressed into one. The pulse slammed into him and for a moment the world just turned dark before his eyes and his mind went blank in an instance.

When he blinked again, his awareness was ringing in a high pitched scream and the vision before his eyes was reduced to balking images for a few moments longer. He was laying on his back, on the floor. He gasped for air, trying to get up, his hands, no his entire body was shaking so badly he could barely move, in his skittering vision he saw Quadirymir trying to stand up as well, stumbling, as whatever had just knocked out Zenozarax had not left him unaffected either.

But most startling, there was Ravalor, the lines of izthra as well as his eyes still burning so brightly they appeared almost pure white. He was still standing, almost peacefully, or maybe shocked, staring at his own glowing hands.

This wasn't normal. This had never happened before.

Zenozarax’ arms caved in as he tried to stand up, desperately he struggled against his own failing body. He needed to take care of Quadirymir.

“What did you do…?” He heard the old man rasp. Horror in his voice.

Then there was Aeven.

Just as Quadirymir was almost standing again, Aeven had passed Ravalor, a heavy torque-wand raised high in his hand — and with an explosive and bone shattering force the heavy tool smashed into Quadirymir's face, throwing him backwards. Zenozarax saw the distorting hate in the prince's face as he was right back above Quadirymir even before he had fully hit the ground and the wrench smashed back this time into his chest. By the third hit, lords he was quick, Aeven had grabbed one arm and with inhuman strength almost separated the hand from the body with the blunt tool. Then the next— Zenozarax realised almost horrified how methodically destructive Aeven's seemingly wild hits were in disabling the wizard below him and he was violently reminded that this man had been trained all his life to kill wizards, Hammer or not — Another hit. Wet grinding of metal, magic and flesh. And again. Red blood mixing with black splashed into the air with every swing as the deceptive envoy body was broken down to its core structure.

— There might be a life-link! A fail safe! Don't let him kill him! His Wizard nearly shouted at him through the haze in his own mind.

Zenozarax staggered up, finally moving, falling forward more than walking. He reached Aeven, grasping his wrist in mid swing, pulling him roughly off and away from Quadirymir. He fell down to his knees, and taking all his focus a violent sphere of chaos appeared around him, encasing the twitching body of Quadirymir, hiding him in the surge of energy. The sphere was small, but his own mind was weak enough that he had felt its violence tear across his mind like a serrated knife. But it was stable.

“Xaronzul, jump! NOW!”

— Get them out of there!

Zenozarax felt his breath hard in his chest, looking up, he felt the station grow louder around him, then the jump alarm started to blare. There had already been panic in the restaurant, now people scrambled to get down and hold onto anything for dear life.

He looked at Ravalor.

Ravalor didn't seem to see him. He didn't seem to be aware of anything.

Then the light in his eyes faded, faded more, and turned pitch black. And Ravalor started to fall.

Zenozarax tried to jump up, catch him before he could hit the ground, but Aeven beat him to it, the very same moment the entire station gave a violent lurch as it jumped across the multiverse.

Ravalor IV

Ravalor existed.

That he was at least tentatively sure of.

Somewhere in nothing, floating in a sea of light, he was aware. Right there he saw everything and felt nothing. And because he saw everything, all of it was reduced to light, as all colours were fused back into white.

Faintly there was a memory of his own body, but it didn't belong here. The absence of any physical sensation only intensified the light around him as it was the only thing there was. While impossible to truly comprehend, Ravalor instinctively knew that this light was not a quality of the space he existed in, but rather, the very fabric of what allowed him to even think about it. It felt neither welcoming or hostile, if anything his presence seemed as insignificant to it as a grain of sand would be to a tsunami.

The sensation in his mind was overwhelming and the memory of his own self felt like an anchor dragging him down. There was so much, but he couldn't understand any of it. Like a thundering waterfall crashing into a small drinking glass that was simply, physically incapable of holding even the smallest mentionable fraction of the deluge.

In a way he also understood that nothing of this was actually happening — at least not in the context of his physical self. Because he felt no time. No space. Just the ever more pressing awareness of something that saw him as he saw it. He wasn't alone. Within this something he felt trillions upon trillions of entities. But amongst them, in this timeless moment, there was only one that really saw him. He felt it. Him.

The light around him shifted, gently and hasteless. An idea, like a distant memory, fleeting and without form, embraced him in a warm golden glow, and almost he thought he heard the calling of birds. A low whisper of a river. A rustling of wind through flowing curtains. A memory of place that seemed utterly foreign to this space, pulling him softly into a context he could comprehend.

The being was there with him. It felt like they were close, just in reach, if he only could reach out he would be able to grasp them. But there was also nothing there, because it was just a feeling.

Then a gentle, slightly raspy voice spoke to him.

— Don't be afraid.

Outside the safe embrace he felt that onslaught of impression rushing past him and already by paying attention to it he felt himself dragged away from the sense of calm comfort. His mind shuddered as he glanced past the warmth, just within his peripheral feeling, and he felt like there was something else. Someone else, looming just outside of his awareness which was almost fully enveloped by the warm golden glow of the one that had spoken to him.

He struggled to think, let alone respond to the bodiless voice.

— Where am I? What is this? He finally managed to ask, but he had no voice to speak these words.

— This is us. The voice said softly, the word carrying the lightness of a smile. Reassuring, comforting. —You call it the void.

His mind felt like it was about to tear apart, like with every passing moment more and more threats unravelled and being whispered away by this overwhelming presence around and he tried as hard as he could to focus on the warm glow. But distress tore at every facet of his mind. If this was the void — he had died. Desperation, denial, grief, all welled up in his awareness. He needed to go back, this couldn't be it, he wanted to—

The soft, raspy voice brought him back into their embrace, gently but firmly holding his attention.

— You’re part of it now. Let it take you, the voice said. — Don’t fight it.

Ravalor wasn't sure he could have stopped it in the first place as he was dragged along, and as the fear finally settled in his overwhelmed mind, he understood that those words implied just an illusion of choice.

The voice grew distant as his mind was swept away in the current of light, sinking deeper and faster into the onslaught of impressions.

— I’ve waited for you.

He understood that the voice didn't really mean him. But someone like him. Someone who could make This happen. This had happened before. It would happen again.

But what This was, he still didn't understand.

His awareness started to flicker, light was replaced in jittering chunks with absolute darkness. He was drowning, dragged deeper into the void.

— Your body will be broken now. You need to share this burden.

The sentences oscillated into a high pitched ringing and back into silence.

— I’ll find you.

Then his mind finally shut down and Ravalor vanished into darkness.

*

Ravalor woke up.

Everything about that process was familiar. The place ( Zenozarax' bedroom), the circumstances (he had slipped away again), the people around him (Zenozarax, Moakatar) now in motion as he woke up, and the freezing cold in his body.

But everything was different.

Within the second of becoming aware his mind started racing, reducing reality to a slow crawl, every function on his body had slowed down or stopped outright as every available spark of energy was trying to process his thoughts, because…

He remembered.

He would shudder, but even that his body would no longer do, as he didn't breathe, didn't move, didn't blink. It was hard, near impossible, to find any sensible starting point of sorting what he now knew. Every time he tried to grasp a thought a thousand more came crashing into his awareness, drowning out any coherent recollection.

By the lords, he remembered.

He had taken the curse of Chaos into his mind. And he had expected it to be a dramatic change, something that would inevitably change his own perception, yes. But, he knew that what had happened to him wasn't normal.

Of course it wasn't, he would have laughed or cried over that realisation; he couldn't even do treason normally. He should have expected that.

He knew when he had taken the curse of chaos from Quadirymir something abnormal had happened, because he now remembered the first time he had willingly taken this curse:

After Atladin had taken Zenozarax and him hostage, and Zenozarax, he with the help of Demitalek had built a hell portal beneath Treva to banish the construct within Zenozarax to hell. And Ravalor had taken Zenozarax' hand, sharing his burden long enough to do that. He remembered the moment when reality around him had recontextualized within the framework of this curse, and he felt the same now. Back then Zenozarax had killed him to make sure Ravalor would not take this curse back to Mezchinhar. In a way he had assumed it would end not too differently this time.

(By the lords he felt pain)

But this was not the same.

He remembered.

He had taken Quadirymir’s wrist, just the same as he had seen Grandmaster Zenozarax do it before.

Now that he remembered, he understood how impossible it should be that he did. But he did remember, he did remember Zenozarax awakening him for the first time, the moment the wizard he was, Ravalor, had come into time. Long before he had been in the cold sterile walls of Mezchinhar. Grandmaster Zenozarax and the struggle of Funnix… and recognized himself and what he had become in every moment, and how it had driven him back to Zenozarax again, and again.

(He felt like drowning)

All of it was so much, too much, but it was what he could understand. Because those were his own memories.

But then there was Quadirymir.

Someone touched him on his shoulder, and finally his body resumed the most basic functions. He gasped. Blinked.

But dragged back into reality he suddenly was assaulted by a kind of pain he assumed had to be comparable to a human migraine. Just that in his case, with his decentralized neural system, the pain flared in every part of his body. He tried to raise up but couldn't even move for the longest time.

Then he finally met Zenozarax' eyes and the worry within them. The desire to just grasp his hand was now stronger than it had ever been during the last weeks, but faintly there was a puzzling awareness that even now, when a simple touch could do no more damage, the touch he had felt had been on his shoulder.

Ravalor tried to speak.

“What is happening to you?” Zenozarax asked intensely. How often had he asked already?

A shuddering gasp filled his lungs with shallow, desperate breaths. There were a thousand and one things he wanted to say, but how was he to even begin to explain that he remembered? That there was something there, in the void, after all. And that he had — for a moment — when he had grasped Quadirymir's wrist, seen all of that horrible wizard. Past any disconnection, past any blockages, past what even Quadirymir had ever forgotten in death. He had seen and remembered all of him.

Four Parts.

The old man. The young woman. The twins, two Part so dangerously similar to each other that they took each other's place frequently without anyone noticing, and both of whom he had seen in the battle of Funnix.

And all of them had been close to him. To Ravalor.

The Stargazer remembered the memories of his other parts, everything that had happened over the last months, but he also saw his Warrior's actions laid out before him as Quadirymir had watched him along the way ever since he had returned from the inter-dimensional dark earth. Every stop within the Twilight galaxy the Kingmaker called his home had brought him dangerously close to Quadirymir.

But that wasn't all. He knew of the war he had orchestrated, back in Aeven's home galaxy and now in the Twilight galaxy as well.

He remembered how Zenozarax had described Quadirymir as a wizard whose attention one does not want. It was doubtful even Zenozarax understood how right that statement was when Zenozarax himself was Quadirymir's sole focal point, in what only could be described as obsession.

That realisation was profound and unsettling. And some part of Ravalor found pity as he could, as an outside observer of other wizard's memories, see objectively how his mind had been twisted.

The moment when Quadirymir had found out about the Knife Izvi and created a plan to take it for himself was the moment Quadirymir had rewritten his own destiny. Funnix had been the turning point.

Because against all odds, Quadirymir had successfully taken the Knife from Grandmaster Zenozarax in that battle. And it had sent him down a path of mania Ravalor could, with an analytical calmness, identify as abnormal. He understood that not even Quadirymir himself had realised how over thousands of years, the influence of the Knife desperate to return to its owner had warped Quadirymir’s perception, his goals and ambition, till there had been only one goal, one person left: Zenozarax.

Everything that had happened, and everything that was happening right now, was just a consequence of it.

Quadirymir’s interest in Ravalor was only in the context of Zenozarax, that much was clear. But that made what Quadirymir knew no less startling as Ravalor realised the true danger to himself was not coming from Quadirymir. But from within the machinations of Mezchinhar itself.

He tried to say that, anything, but the only thing he finally managed was a shuddering gasp.

There was a sound. Zenozarax was beside him again. When had he even left? He was speaking. Ravalor could hear the tune of his words.

Zenozarax IV

“Ravalor?” Zenozarax looked up. “He is trying to speak, right? Why can't he?”

“I don’t know,” Moakatar said, looking at the hovering display next to the bed. “Based on all non intrusive scans there is nothing wrong with him. At least physically. But his neural net is still completely overwhelmed, I don't think he can comprehend what you're saying.”

“Blast-curse it!” Zenozarax muttered, turning back to Ravalor. At least he was looking at him now. He sat down on the side of the bed, trying to once more get anything from him. For the last two hours there had been nothing but cut off words at best.

All the while he sat here, helpless and not at all helping. There was a searing disconnect grinding in his mind as he was very much aware of the chaos on the station. The groaning in its hull. The people and the forceful calm of evacuation his Warrior and Sukatar were leading right this moment. He should be doing something too. But instead he kept himself and, by force of an unuttered plea answered silently by compassion and loyalty, Moakatar here in this room. Just because he couldn't bear the idea of leaving Ravalor in this condition alone. Zenozarax still could do something, theoretically, no matter the sense of helplessness. Ravalor, by all observable signs, could not.

“What is happening to you?” he asked gently. The urge to just grasp his hand was more intense than it ever had been in the last weeks, but there was something critically wrong with Ravalor. There was a greater than zero chance of what had happened just hours before in the restaurant could happen again once anyone tried to connect to Ravalor. Zenozarax would like to believe it wouldn't, that it had been an instinctual defensive reaction (and lords knew he knew how catastrophically destructive this power was in the hands of the ignorant) but even assuming that, there was a secondary threat. Ravalor’s state right now was as abnormal as the moment of his turning. Chaos was an overwhelming amount of knowledge but Zenozarax had never seen a wizard being rendered inoperable just by acquiring it. After all, it felt nothing but natural to himself. So until they could be sure it wasn't an actually corrupting curse Quadirymir had infected him with, it was simply not safe to touch him. “Have you seen something, Ravalor?”

If it wasn't a curse, it must have been a prophecy. Even when Ravalor's case varied dramatically from any account of wizards seeing the future, it was thus far the only explanation for any … abnormal behavior. It was poor scientific reasoning, we don't know what it is so it has to be the only thing we know, but Zenozarax found his intellectual curiosity strangled by worry.

Ravalor swallowed hard, pressing his eyes shut, like he really tried to say something and when he opened back his eyes he looked startlingly near to tears. This body of his was physically incapable of crying, but that didn't change his clearly upset emotional state.

He wanted to say something and couldn't for some reason. Being reminded of Aeven at his absolute worst, caught in panic unable to communicate clearly, he realised he had to change his approach.

Zenozarax tried to calm himself, if Ravalor was even nearly as upset as he looked, he was not helping with pressuring him for an answer.

“Alright, you can understand what I’m saying, yes?”

After a moment, a light nod. While rudimentary, it was the most basic form of reasonably clear communication not requiring words. Keeping it to Yes or No for the start.

“Are you in pain?”

Hesitation. Another nod.

“Is it a curse?”

Again, hesitation, then a light shake of the head. Zenozarax noticed how the quick breath slowed.

“Prophecy?”

This time Ravalor didn't respond either way, but the expression on his face turned more painfilled and he closed his eyes again, blinking hard as if even the soft light in the room was too bright.

“Can you tell me your name?” Zenozarax asked softly. Ravalor looked back at him, for a moment looking almost puzzled. “You haven't forgotten your own name, have you? Come on, humour me,” he teased, trying to lighten the whole situation with a potentially ill-timed quip. He would shoot himself into the nearest star should Ravalor now reveal he indeed had forgotten his name.

“Ravalor,” he eventually said, saving Zenozarax from a fiery death of regret.

“Good.” Zenozarax smiled, now resting his hand on Ravalor’s shoulder with gentle but reassuring pressure. “What’s my name?”

“Zenozarax,” Ravalor answered again, now frowning slightly.

“And where are we?”

A little bit of silence then “The Edge of the Universe. Your station.” That was a lot at once. Progress!

“Before you came here, you were in Treva with Pelagius. How did you meet him first?”

Now Ravalor looked downright confused, but that was leagues better than the pain before.

“In Obermoor, he … saved me from the demons.” A short pause. “He also attacked me doing so.”

Zenozarax smiled very lightly as there was a bit of lingering indignant outrage about that, even if only evident by the reflex to state the fact in the first place. Ravalor no doubt was thankful for the help Pelagius had been, but that initial meeting could have gone a little more smoothly. For both sides.

“You did also kill him,” Zenozarax reminded him.

“Because he attacked me first,” Ravalor frowned, then halted. Maybe realizing how much easier the words had come. But before he could focus and that and at worst slip back into confusion Zenozarax continued.

“You talked with Aeven before going to lunch,” he said, slowly introducing the recent events back into awareness. “Did you notice any … violent behavior from him?”

Ravalor raised his brows, as expected, temporarily distracted by worry. “No? Not at all. Why? What happened?”

“You don't remember? After you took Quadirymir's wrist?” He asked very carefully. To his surprise, Ravalor gave a short, husky and utterly mirthless chuckle.

“What’s funny?”

Ravalor shook his head, the frown appeared back on his face, when he spoke again it was like he forcefully tried to divert his attention: “What happened with Aeven?”

“He basically beat Quadirymir to a clump with the wrench you gave him.”

“Torque Wand.”

“It looks like a wrench, it acts like a wrench, it is a wrench.”

“You are strangely alike,” Ravalor noted phlegmatically, but heavily, as if every word exhausted him more. He had closed his eyes for a moment as he had spoken, a slight frown drawing slight wrinkles between his brows as he rested his head further back. Then he opened his eyes again. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. Just needed a moment to cool down.” Zenozarax assured him. “What happened when you took his wrist?”

“I saw…” Ravalor did not look at him but straight ahead at nothing. “No, I remembered.”

“What did you remember?”

Ravalor shook his head, “It doesn't make sense. It’s impossible.”

Ravalor seemed calm, but Zenozarax knew that wasn't true. He had seen that unnerving distance in Ravalor’s eyes only once. Back then it had been if anything a protective response to fear, grief and shock. Seeing it again, hearing that apathetic undertone, made Zenozarax' skin crawl. Not only because he didn't want to be reminded of those dark few days in the tower at Artlenburg, but also because he couldn't grasp what Ravalor might have experienced now to bring him back into that darkness.

“Nothing is impossible,” Zenozarax countered with forced levity and the unshakable conviction of a wizard that had brushed past godly magic and abstract death a few too many times. “Try.”

“I remember everything I had forgotten. I remember what happened in Funnix. I remember what happened in Artlenburg. And I have seen all of Quadirymir. I know where he is. I know what he was doing. He knows about the rest of me. They are in danger!” Suddenly, like he just needed to put these facts into words, Ravalor seemed more alert and focused. He even raised up halfway, sitting up almost proper against the headrest of the bedframe.

But that was neither here nor there because, as Zenozarax stared at Ravalor because, yes, what Ravalor had just said was impossible and if it was true — his own thoughts scrambled, but unlike Ravalor that didn't keep him from speaking “What do you mean you remember Funnix?” The real question was how do you remember any of that, but Funnix stood out to him as the one claim that should literally be impossible because Ravalor had not even existed back then. But of course, Ravalor had always claimed there was something more to that battle.

“Quadirymir staged that fight to lure you into a trap to take the Knife from you. We were trapped, Mezchinhar's attempts to free us tortured every wizard still alive with the reaction of the chaos sphere, so we wanted to use that behavior to send a message to tell them to stop, but then Quadirymir ambushed you and you took chaos into yourself to defeat him—“ Ravalor had started to talk slowly but with every word it quickened into almost mad rambling.

“No, no, HOW do you know that?”

“I had the prototype blueprint of myself already in my mind, just the scaffolding — you activated it. Me. I wasn't Ravalor immediately, I think. But … I became me. By the end I was Ravalor, or at least close enough for the Iumzache to recognize me. A Part of me. When Exavidar thought he brought me into time he didn't. He created a second Part of me without synchronising with the first! That’s why I was not whole even from the start, I was always compensating for the Soldier! That’s why I failed that stability test three times and barely made it through the fourth. I was broken from the start, I was, till the Warrior! It all makes sense now!”

“I didn't —“

“You didn't know, it's not your fault.” Ravalor murmured, taken by his manic rambling, shaking his head, “It wasn't your fault. You had already damaged one of Quadirymir's parts. And you thought if only you damaged one more, statistically, you would give the others enough time to get rescued. You were right! He is of four, but he had already lost one creating the dome. It would have worked but…” his expression turned more grim. “I don't remember it happening to myself. But he killed me, because he saw you cared for me. You… lost control then. And the dome exploded…”

Zenozarax caught himself shaking his head. It was hard to believe, but the certainty with which Ravalor spoke left no doubt at least he believed it to be true.

He felt his perception narrow down, he felt his own heartbeat, the faint echo of the pulse that was within all wizards, as he stared at Ravalor. Artlenburg. The question lay on the tip of his tongue and yet no word would come. Because he couldn't ask. He felt the dark tendrils of fear dragging on his awareness, he felt the Warrior too suddenly pause, focusing on him. And so he stared at Ravalor, trying to discern from his eyes alone what he knew. Or though he knew… what Ravalor may had suspected back then. Down in the tunnels below Treva. When at last they had been alone, together, only the two of them. After Zenozarax had killed his oldest and most trusted friend.

But right in this moment, Ravalor's face, not even his eyes, told him anything. And it felt like a blindspot where one had never been before. It felt wrong, desperation wailed up within him, trying to find a way to—

“What have you seen of Quadirymir?” Sukatar’s voice caught him properly off guard and he flinched painfully. He had been so focused on Ravalor that he had completely lost track of his surroundings. Sukatar, clearly called in by Moakatar, now stood at the end of the bed, staring at Ravalor with unsettling intensity.

“Everything,” Ravalor said quietly. “Everywhere he ever was, everything he ever did he — I think I even remember everything he forgot. Everytime he died as a Warrior in the Order. Everytime he was betrayed…” he spoke slowly, like he actively tried to verify every word he spoke as he did so.

“Did you take over his mind?” Sukatar asked sharply. She was tense, and even Moakatar besides her looked concerned. Zenozarax didn’t have to ask why, in their current situation they had no time to waste. They had fled from Quadirymir, but that didn’t mean Quadirymir would simply let them be. Unless Ravalor had fully taken over his mind. But that was unlikely, not just on the basis of Ravalor inexperience. Quadirymir was too careful, he would have been preemptively disconnected from the rest of himself. Probably during the entire time he had been here and only giving regular status updates in brief moments of reconnection.

“I don’t …” Ravalor began hesitatingly.

“I don't think it’s that. Quadirymir appeared to be still himself after Ravalor touched him, and he would have attacked him had Aeven not intervened,” Zenozarax said. “And it wouldn’t explain the extent of his knowledge. Not the deaths.”

“Show me,” Sukatar said. And everyone stared at her — Moakatar was the first to object.

“It might be a curse!” she said, taking Sukatar's arm. “We shouldn’t touch him before we know what happened to him!”

“What do the scans say?”

“The scans show nothing abnormal but,” Moakatar struggled, looking from Sukatar to Ravalor, even briefly to Zenozarax and back to Sukatar, before she added “What if it happens again?”

She didn't say “what if he explodes again” but by the looks of it everyone besides Ravalor himself understood.

“No, if he is telling the truth, and Quadirymir is still alive and out there, I want to know what we’re really dealing with. You said you saw where he was?”

“Yes. Up till that moment. I don't see him now.”

“And he knows about what is happening to the rest of you?”

“Yes!” Ravalor rose up even more. With raising concern Zenozarax noticed the moment of wavering as he no longer was supported by the headrest. “He doesn’t know why, but—” Ravalor looked back at Zenozarax. “They are going to discontinue me. It’s inevitable. The moment Aeven…” Ravalor fell silent for a moment, and dropped back against the headrest. His breath quickened, like he tried to wrap his head around something he just realised that simply wouldn’t make sense, his gaze lost focus. “If he leaves… He…I’m— I…”

“Ravalor!” Sukatar snapped.

“Would you give him a moment?!” Zenozarax flared up, standing up, meeting the glare of Sukatar head-on.

“What do you think is happening right now?” she fired back sharply. It was like being doused by a bucket of ice cold water — because there had only ever been one time she had spoken to him with this much vitriol in her voice. But this time he lacked the godly influence that had made him blind to its implications. “We’re in the middle of an evacuation that could end in destruction any second. Do you think we have time to coddle him? Do you think he has that time? With what he just told you?”

Lords, he knew she was right but, “Can we just —” what? He looked down to Ravalor who seemed too exhausted as to really pay attention to the fight over his own well being. “I should do it.”

“No you shouldn’t. And you probably can’t, not like I can.” Sukatar stepped forward. “Right now, if it comes to a fight, you and Moakatar are the only ones at full strength, and you are the most powerful. If this is dangerous, I’m the one you can afford to lose. But we need to get ahead of it.”

“Su!” Moakatar stared at her aghast.

“You want to check those scans again?” Sukatar looked back at Moakatar, and there was even a light smile on her face, maybe trying to calm Moakatar, at least a little bit. Moakatar said nothing, but the desperation in her eyes was palpable.

Then Sukatar turned back to Ravalor, but before she could sit down next to him Zenozarax took her by her arm. “Are you sure about this?”

“If he knows what Quadirymir knows I need to see it,” she said unshaken. “Zen, I would have killed to get into that wizard's head any day. If he knows even a fraction of Quadirymir's secrets — Do you know what that means? His stashes, his hideouts, his contacts, what he might have done to the station?! If this is true, and we play this right, we can do more than survive this.”

“It’s all there…” Ravalor murmured, eyes closed. “I can tell you.”

“I’m not sure you can,” Sukatar said, finally sitting down as Zenozarax let go of her. “Not in your current state. I want to see all of it, make sure we’re not missing anything of importance.”

“Ravalor?” Zenoarax asked. “Are you okay with this? Can you show her?”

“I think so.” Ravalor nodded weakly, then opened his eyes again, looking at Sukatar. “But it’s a lot. I don’t even fully… know how much it is. It keeps coming into my thoughts.”

“I’ll be ready. It might even help you make sense of it, have two eyes on it,” Sukatar said almost gently, but the look in her eyes was hard and determined. “When you took Quadirymir's hand, there was a force. An explosion.”

Ravalor looked at her with nothing but bemusement, but Sukatar continued, “I don't get the impression it was something you did consciously. If it was something you did. But I think maybe you wanted to defend yourself?”

Zenozarax felt a chill as he recognized that tone of voice. It was so soft and reassuring — the voice of a Seeker prodding for a confession of an unsuspecting wizard.

“I don't know what happened,” Ravalor said carefully.

“That’s alright,” she said. “But you don't want to hurt me now, right?”

“No.”

Then she held out her hand.

“Will it…” Ravalor took a deep breath. “Hurt? Like with the Mindcrawler?”

“No,” she said, “Nothing like that. I’ll just be with you, going where you let me go. I won’t force myself anywhere you don’t want me to look.”

Ravalor seemed assured because he raised his hand, at least he tried to. He couldn’t hold it up, and it dropped back down onto the bed before Sukatar.

For a moment Zenozarax felt the sickening sensation of everyone being aware of the horrible state Ravalor was in, but everyone chose to say nothing about it. And even he could do nothing but accept it.

Sukatar took Ravalor's hand. “Ready?”

Ravalor nodded.

Sukatar II

There was danger here. Sukatar acknowledged it with a cold, analytic disposition. There were two kinds of Seekers most prolific within Mezchinhar. Those that reveled in the thrill of danger and those that could look it straight in the face without betraying any emotion. Cabanyame, her old colleague and rival, had always had an unhealthy tendency for the former. She was one of the latter.

Trust only went so far and once more it was barely Ravalor’s own fault that his promise of meaning no harm rang hollow to her. But this time, maybe for the first time in her life, the potential reward for taking on his danger was so great, so tempting, that the act itself felt more than dangerous. There was a thrill. An excitement, hope. She felt like she could finally relate to Canbanyame in this regard — only thousands of years too late as to affect their relationship at all.

Sukatar met Ravalor’s eyes. Both Zenozarax and Moakatar were watching them quietly, but no less tense than she felt. They had taken a few steps back.

Sukatar too took the necessary precaution for safety and fact finding reasons alike as she disconnected from her only left over part. If this was dangerous, at least they would learn how it may have affected Quadirymir, and to what extent the rest of him would know what had happened.

Ravalor’s hand lay casually in hers, just one spark of connection away from potential catastrophe. His hand was warm against her skin, like he was running a fever.

Sukatar was the one to initialise the connection between them, she heard the sharp breath of Moakar as she did it. The magic in her hand lit up softly and immediately the magic within Ravalor responded, reaching out to her naturally. The fear of danger spiked, drawing out the second to a painful degree, and then calmed. A deep breath of tension escaped her lungs as the connection felt nothing but gentle, warm even. But also, unlike anything she had ever felt before. It wasn't the distant and ragged connection between two wizards that didn't really harmonize well. It wasn’t the easy and soft flow of memories that came with finding someone that was on the same wavelength, either. It was something different entirely.

There was no real way she would have been able to describe it adequately in words, as she felt Ravalor’s mind meet hers, at first just like she had expected, with her leading each other into a light co-existence. What then happened was happening so gradually, yet so fast, that she first realised it when it was too late to react. Suddenly she felt Ravalor to be nothing like she had expected.

But at that point, she could no longer take her hand away.

Faintly she knew that Ravalor had been right. There were Quadirymir's memories, all of them, and in this connection between them, that knowledge freely flew into her own awareness. And she had thought it to be one of the most important things to accomplish. A moment of triumph over Quadirymire she had always dreamed off.

But it absolutely paled against a much more profound feeling.

As the entity of Ravalor seemed to expand in her awareness, she felt him reach into her own mind in a completely unfamiliar way. It didn’t feel malicious, not even deliberate, and it didn’t hurt. It was gentle, soft, kind — and terrifying.

Ravalor saw her, and in his mind she saw herself, like she never had. And she hopelessly lost herself in it.

“Sulaveshen.”

His eyes opened, as he came into time for the first time, built for a purpose as Wolkamarek, his Soulturner said. A purpose that kept him in isolation till he was made whole, and soon he was taken in by Rakesh, a Seeker that became his mentor for a long time. Because a Seeker's purpose was of great importance.

“Sulaveshen?”

He turned around, and remembered the moment he had first met Moakolax. Assigned as his Medium to handle the logistical challenges and mission administration of Sulaveshen’s tasks as a Seeker.

The memory was sweet and nostalgic, a chance assignment that had blossomed into the most precious feeling he had ever known, and it still amazed him that Moakolax had put up with his attitude.

By lords he had been so standoffish, of course, as a Seeker he was sworn to the greatest secrecy, the greatest care — but Moakolax had never minded that. It made Sukatar smile.

And slowly, hexad after hexad, the distance between them shrunk, till one day, Sulaveshen had come to the novel realisation that indeed, he trusted this wizard. That he felt safe around them.

In that trust, a strange desire started to blossom. As a Seeker he had understood, better than anyone, the danger of these feelings. But with enough time, a wizard could find any number of justifications, reasons and excuses, till one day even the total disregard of societal norms seemed absolutely plausible and excusable.

Moakolax would have never crossed that line first, Sulaveshen had known that. Not because, as he found out, he didn't feel the same, but because he had known he could never put a Seeker into that position to take such a risk.

The moment he had taken Moakolax hand the first time was the most amazing sensation he had ever experienced. And it sealed both their fates.

Sukatar's eyes widened in shook as her own memories suddenly expanded, as the worst day in her life was drawn into a new context.

The day Moakolax had been compromised on what should have been a simple recon assignment with low risks. But the lead he had followed had been a ruse, a trap she now realised

Quadirymir.

It suddenly made sense. At the time she couldn't understand why the Chaos Wizard that had ambushed Moakolax had not killed and taken him. Instead, leaving him, turned and desperate, ready to give himself up even if it meant his own death, knowing that death would most certainly come by the hand of the wizard he loved. Pure and malicious revenge for inconveniencing one of Quadirymir’s operations without even being aware of it. He had known the pain it would cause. That was the point.

But Sulaveshan could never have done it. Because that was where Quadirymir failed to understand. This connection was foreign to him.

And so Sulaveshen had taken Moakolax, taking that curse himself, and left — leaving behind the two wizards they had been, and the life they had, every security and assurance. Because Sulaveshan knew, he would rather die than lose Moakolax.

They had never known the Chaos Wizard who did this to them. So when Quadirymir, seemingly by chance, found them (he had always known where they had been) — they had been in no position to refuse his help.

Sukatar had despised all of it. She had hated him from the start, and now she wondered if she had somehow always suspected it to have been Quadirymir who had torn her from her life.

The vile hatred eased as she remembered meeting Zenozarax, and even when they were so different, she had understood his pain better than anyone, bonding over a life they had lost, and knowledge that there were things in this existence that were worth sacrificing everything for. Worth doing whatever was necessary to protect it.

There was safety in these memories. And even when she had protested when they had dragged in Xaronzul, by now she would never have wanted to miss him in her life.

Because there was something special in what they had built. Together. A working function. Wizards she trusted.

But then that feeling was abruptly swept away, as she thought she reached the end of her recollection spanning her entire life, intertwined with the memories of Quadirymir, she suddenly remembered … more. Again and again, she died. Killed by the enemy, killed by Mezchinhar, killed after her mind being torn apart by the Mindcrawler, killed to just seal the records. Memories she had forgotten.

The horrifying realisation filled every atom of her body, she couldn't breathed anymore as she was forced to relive death after death in agonizing clarity, eroding her still held faith in the construct that was Mezchinhar without giving her even one moment to understand what was happening.

Suddenly all of it was all of her, and her mind, trying to process this onslaught of memories, strained under the absence of her third part, started to fail.

The reality of where she sat before Ravalor, still staring at him, felt distant and unreal.

“What are you doing…?” A voice whispered in terror, followed by a sob, and after a moment she realised it had been her own. She heard someone call her name.

“This isn’t possible,” she whispered, the images before her eyes became slow and dragging along, cutting out and flickering. But still saw Ravalor. His hand was tense in hers, trembling, the magic was gleaming hot — and she saw black blood starting to drip from his nose.

Suddenly she was torn away, Ravalor janked forward, dragged by her for a second, but their hands parted as she stumbled backwards and fell. The same time Ravalor collapsed onto the bed. Zenozarax was right there, he had caught Racalor halfway, leaning him back, but his eyes met Sukatar's, anger glared within every line of his face.

“What did you do??”

“I didn't— He —“ she tried to speak, but every word was no more than a breathless gasp. The memories in her mind build up more and more in a backlock of what she couldn't process this quickly. She saw Zenozarax speak but heard nothing. In the last balking images her mind processed she looked at Moakatar next to her, calling her name but not hearing it.

Then everything turned to darkness.

Moakatar I

Given the situation, both Ravalor and Sukatar had been moved to the med bay. There wasn’t much more they could do here than up in Zenozarax’ bedroom, at least not for a wizard. Having relied for these types of facilities mostly on the Dark Citadel, and with their own not yet fully restored after Xaronzul had fried every circuit in the system when Ravalor tried to escape during his Remnant episode, they were woefully underequipt to properly diagnose what appeared to be a very deep rooted neurological problem.

Moakatar quietly looked over the bodies in the room.

There was, of course, both Sukatar and Ravalor, unconscious and unresponsive. She tried not to worry herself too much. Neither was dead and it was generally known that, if a curse or malfunction didn’t immediately kill a wizard, it wouldn’t do so slowly. But it was also known that whatever was wrong now, would potentially simply stay this way. Unlike many illnesses a human could have, where the sickness might worsen or hopefully get better over time, wizards' ailments rarely behaved that way. They did not miraculously get better. But they also usually didn’t get worse once the damage was done.

Next to Ravalor there was the unfinished husk of Xaronzul on one of the beds. Past that a cold glistening tank that held Sukatar's third part in frozen stasis. It was technically wrong to even refer to them with their name yet, neither of the two Parts had yet been synchronized with the rest of Su or Tash.

The Edge of the Universe was not equipped to handle this issue. Even if this absolutely catastrophic interruption of the process of rebuilding them hadn't damaged them, and that was a big if, the Edge of the Universe wasn't even capable of providing the necessary amount of stable, fluctuation-free energy needed. It all could be built of course … given time.

There was another tank, next to Sukatar, emitting an even stronger vapour of cold and a haze of static in the air only wizards could see. The old man, one Part of Quadirymir, was in there. Beaten, broken, shut down — but not dead. Again, while Aeven had done considerable damage to this body, he had not fully killed him and thus he too would not die spontaneously on his own.

Having Quadirymir this close, right here right now, even unconscious, still made her uneasy. To the outside she may look calm, but she felt sick from worry. An ache in her whole body as her troubled thoughts kept her body in a state of constant alert. It was bad and frankly unprofessional because it was exhausting and would leave her no better equipped to deal with the situation one way or another. She usually was better in shutting it out and focusing on the task at hand. Her eyes fell back on Sukatar’s motionless body.

The only saving grace was the fact that it had only affected this Part of Sukatar. Of course Sukatar had disconnected her only remaining Part before doing this, and whatever had happened had not affected her Wizard. But until this Part here would wake up her Wizard could say no more than anyone else about what was wrong. And so till that point, Sukatar's Wizard had decided to meditate, not least of all to steady her now overburdened mind (with one dead Part and one disconnected and unconscious.)

She had invited her to join, too. Moakatar loved Sukatar dearly but meditating really was the last thing on her mind right now. So her own Wizard kept herself busy by making sure their “safe house” really was safe and her Warrior still helped the evacuation here on the station. Leaving only this Part, the Scholar, in a weird sense of limbo of wanting to leave the room and do something but also being unwilling to leave Sukatar and Quadirymir alone in one room together no matter how unconscious either was.

The door opened and Zenozarax entered. His Warrior was probably in the command centre, making sure they were ready to jump the station again if they had to. If anything showed up unannounced.

So it was the Wizard checking in on them, even beyond the clothing, it was most noticeable in the concern marking his face.

“Any change?” he asked, and Moakatar had to shake her head.

“Nothing. They are stable though,” she said, trying to make it sound at least halfway optimistic. A clinically detached part of her mind marvelled at how quickly everything had changed. It had been a long time coming, sure, slowly and slowly… and then suddenly all at once.

Zenozarax stood beside Ravalor, a deep, unhappy frown drawing his brows down.

“Whatever happened, it definitely affected them both.” Moakatar said as she stood up and stepped away from the work counter. “Look at those waves.” She nodded to the displays tracking the neural activity of both Ravalor and Sukatar. “There is a lot more happening on Ravalor’s side, but occasionally…” she waited for a second for it to happen, “There. They still occasionally sync up perfectly.”

“Hmm.” Zenozarax sat down next to the bed after pulling up one of the magnetic chairs from the side. “Possible that they are just processing?”

“That’s my hope,” Mokatar admitted. It was the only possible situation in which both would just wake up after a while.

She stopped at the foot end of Sukatar's bed, looking at her for a while. Zenozarax too stayed quiet.

“Xaronzul will overlook the transfer to the colony fleet once everyone is out of the station. I don't think we should know their position or join them before we’re sure of what is happening,” Zenozarax eventually said. “It all depends now on what they know. And even then we should check the entire station. He says he knows everything, but how can he be sure? The best thing would be just to scrap her. Built a new one. Just to be certain.”

That was the danger at hand. A hidden transponder that might be activated by any number of triggers or even just the absence of a reset, leading either Quadirymir, or worse, the Order directly to them. Moakatar looked across the room, a stand-in for the entirety of the station that had been her home. She wanted to protest, but of course Zenozarax was right. And it pained him as much as her.

“There could be a second part of Quadirymir amongst them,” Moakatar said. “Or a second wizard altogether. Assuming Quadirymir to work alone is optimistic at best. He has allies.”

Zenozarax looked down at his hands, folded into each other. “I think, if Ravalor really knows about all of Quadirymir, he would have mentioned that.”

Right. “Just like with any hidden transponder?”

Zenozarax looked up, a bitter amusement on his face. “Yes. I would like to believe that too. But — even I can't ignore the state he’s in. Even if he’s right, it's possible that those details are hidden in those memories somewhere, but he hasn't seen them yet. Or worse, it’s something Quadirymir had made himself forget, I wouldn't put it past him,” he admitted frustratedly. “We are screening the evacuees as best as we can. They will be on Kavalesso first. Quarantined so to speak, before fully joining the fleet again.”

Moakatar nodded. It was sensible. And pointless, as they both knew. There was no way to effectively screen for Envoys that were properly dug in. Not unless one started to really dissect them to such a degree that it was inevitably fatal to normal humans.

She felt terribly sorry for all of the people going through this ordeal.

“What do you think he will do?”

“If he doesn't know where we are, he will go after Ravalor to get to me. After your other Parts too, if he knows where they are,” Zenozarax mused.

“We've already left,” Mokatar assured him.

“Good.” Zenozarax looked back to Ravalor. “It’s all depending on what he actually knows about what happened. But even what he certainly knows, Ravalor being here with me, will be enough to set the Order off if he were to feed that information to them. But, Ravalor is also the only reliable path he has to me now. Just getting him killed by Mezchinhar would take that option off the table so I don't think he will do that. At least not right away.”

“He would want to capture him instead.”

“Exactly.” Zenozarax leaned backwards. What he didn't say was that to make sure that didn't happen they would need to know what both Sukatar and Ravalor knew. What Quadirymir knew.

“He might just… cut ties for good,” Moakatar suggested even though it felt ridiculously naive to think so. But there was a chance. “If he really thinks the risk is too great.”

“We can't count on that,” Zenozarax said, glancing back to the tank at the far back of the room. “Especially since we still have a Part of him.”

Suddenly the oscillating lines on the display spiked up in a familiar pattern. “He’s waking up!” Moakatar hurried over to Ravalor as Zenozarax too stood up.

Only a second later Ravalor's eyes indeed opened, for another moment just unfocused, before he settled into the current moment. Slight movement, but no attempt of getting up yet.

“Ravalor?” Zenozarax tried to get his attention.

“What did you do?” Mokatar interjected and was immediately sorry for how hostile that sounded. “I mean, what happened?”

Near dreamlike Ravalor's head rolled to the side where Sukatar still lay unmoving. He didn't look worried for her. In fact it was hard to discern any emotion from his face at all.

“I saw her. All of her. I think she remembered too.” Ravalor said, slowly and carefully.

“What does that mean?” Moakat asked, staring at Ravalor like she could just will him to be more descriptive.

“Just what he said.”

Moakatar twitched around as Sukatar’s weak voice spoke.

“Su!” Moakatar hurried to her, “Are you alright? What do you mean, you remember?”

Sukatar shook her head. “I remember… everything. All things I had forgotten. All the things I was made to forget. Every death I ever had.“

“How is that possible?“

“I don’t know.” Sukatar took a deep breath, beneath the exhaustion, she seemed furious. “But he also is right. He saw all of Quadirymir. He knows everything. About him. And… well, about me now too I suppose.” She pushed herself up to sit, slowly like her body was heavier than usual, but with grim determination in her face.

Nervously Moakatar looked back to Zenozarax, but he stayed quiet, focused on Ravalor whose attention had switched briefly to Zenozarax in turn. Sukatar’s eyes spoke of fire and brimstone, an anger Moakatar had rarely seen in her face. For a moment, Moakatar worried that anger would be directed at Ravalor as Sukatar kept staring at him. If Ravalor really had seen all of Sukatar… Moakatar understood why she wouldn't be okay with that at all. Sukatar was a very private wizard, a wizard with a lot of secrets. A lot of secrets that had kept them safe thus far. But if Ravalor knew —

“You are controlling it,” Sukatar suddenly said, it wasn't what Moakatar had expected. “I only saw what you wanted me to see, only Quadirymir’s memories. Not yours.”

Ravalor met Sukatar's stare tiredly again. “Good.” He murmured.

“But you. You saw it all, didn't you? Everything, all of my memories? Even my deaths?”

For a while Ravalor stayed quiet before he admitted, “Yes. It just happened. I didn't… I’m sorry.” He looked pained.

“It’s alright.” Sukatar said unexpectedly, much to everyone's surprise. Moakatar knew immediately that there was something more to this.

Sukatar looked at her, then Zenozarax. She too sounded tired as she spoke, but her words were calm and factual, like she just reported the finding of an experiment. “I do remember everything. All the things I shouldn't be able to remember as well as Quadirymir's memories. Moa, does my other Part know?”

Moakatar inquired with her other Part, then shook her head. “She doesn't.”

“So this knowledge is only with me, till I reconnect. Hence, Quadirymir doesn't know either. We know more about him now than he does himself.” Her eyes glowed, and Moakatar saw Sukatar's other Part stagger under the reunification shock. She would have objected, whatever it was now truly affected all remaining Part of Sukatar, but if she thought it was safe…

“How is this even possible?” Zenozarax asked tensely — Moakatar realised that he seemed nervous as his eyes glanced back to Ravalor who had remained silent.

“It was the purpose of this Part. I build me to see into the void. It never worked. It broke me,” Ravalor said, his head dropping a bit like he was about to pass out. But he remained aware, breathing heavily. “I don't understand why it works now. But it's too much… I’m still broken.”

Everyone stayed quiet for a long and heavy moment. Then Sukatar looked at Moakatar. “We need to know how far this goes.”

“What—?”

“And we need to take out Quadirymir,” Sukatar said as she stood up, and the hateful tone startled Moakatar almost more than the words themselves.

“We should not act too quickly. Let’s talk this through—” Moakatar said quickly, trying to push Sukatar back onto the bed and stop her from going to war outright. She would expect this from Zenozarax, but not from her. Consequently Zenozarax was watching them both now carefully and silently. But Sukatar wouldn't let her object. Standing right in front of her, her voice was reduced to a whisper as she spoke to Moakatar.

“It was him,” Sukatar said, searching Moakatar's face. “He did this to us. His orders.”

Moakatar only marginally understood what she was saying. She didn't want to believe it.

“And if I trust anyone to also see all of me, it’s you. Give me your hand.” Sukatar held out her hand. “If this can spread, we need to know. I don't think it’s a curse though. It doesn't feel like one.”

There was maybe a moment of hesitation, but it didn't last very long. Moakatar was afraid that Sukatar may be wrong, that this was a curse, a hallucination, something that would in due time corrode her mind — but if that was the case, she knew it had to be a fate they both needed to share. She would not see Sukatar succumb to it alone. If this would kill her, it would kill both of them. There was no other way.

And so Moakatar took Sukatar's hand firmly.

Moakatar felt a tense shudder as the magic between them lit up, expecting whatever had happened to Sukatar to happen to her too — but as Sukatar held her hand it was nothing like that. It was just the same gentle and deep connection they had always shared. Nothing more, and nothing less.

“It doesn't spread.” She heard Sukatar say factually, but Moakatar barely listened as she focused on the memories Sukatar showed her.

And immediately she understood her pain, and the anger. The wizard who had torn Moa from the life she had loved, ordered by Quadirymir. That’s why he had known of them, that’s why he had found them. That’s why they were here.

She felt her mind harden. And in that moment they were perfectly unified in their feelings, as for the first time, Moakatar felt that desire for vengeance as clear and pure as Sukatar.

All these years, of all of them, she had been one way or another trying to keep their relationship to Quadirymir free of conflict. She had been the most open to him. Trying to understand him even. Yes, he was a monster, but understanding that, she had felt like there still had to be something true within him. It was in her nature, trying to find the good in people. But that good will had been betrayed before they had even met the first time.

She was angry.

— He will die. Sukatar assured her.

“I need them…”

Moakatar heard Ravalor speak distantly and finally managed to drag her eyes from Sukatar. They both now looked at Ravalor and Zenozarax. The latter, naturally, immediately focused on Ravalor as he spoke.

“Your other parts?” Zenozarax sat back down next to the bed, concern had drawn in brows into a deep frown. Ravalor nodded weakly.

“I have to warn them.”

Ravalor V

I have to warn them.

Ravalor saw that Zenozarax understood, there was no vagueness in that sentence. Ravalor wasn't speaking of any convoluted proxy process of somehow contacting the Warrior to send them a maybe encoded or cryptic message that could withstand scrutiny by Mezchinhar's monitoring. He meant that he, this part, would do it.

Reconnect.

“Now? After all this happened?” Zenozarax was concerned, of course he was. If Ravalor had any clear thought left he probably would be too. But this was it.

Sharing this overwhelming amount of knowledge, even if ever so briefly with Sukatar had granted him a moment of clarity he had badly needed. Now it was twice as bad because he had her memories too, but for a moment there, he had been able to think.

He had achieved everything he had ever wanted. He had seen past the void, he understood what had happened, Funnix, Artlenburg, everything that had shaped his life to lead him exactly here. There was chaos in his mind now, but that was the price he had to pay. The whole of himself. And he would do it because he finally saw and understood that he had no other option left. He, the rest of himself, was in danger. There was no life for him left in Mezchinhar. He had to leave.

“There is no other way. I am not safe in Mezchinhar anymore and I never will be again,” he said to Zenozarax, struggling with every word. “And I can't… function like this.”

Everything was heavy. His body felt like lead.

His mind was racing,

Flooded with foreign memories and those of his own. He could barely think straight. He knew the memories were all there, but he couldn't focus on any of them anymore.

— Your body will be broken now… you need to share this burden…

That strange voice echoed in his mind.

He needed to return. Save himself. Get whole. Think.

Zenozarax was by his side. “Are you sure about this?”

He was, even when there was still a painful, near debilitating resistance in his mind. The wizard he had been had died the moment he had taken Quadirymir’s wrist. But that resistance within him still grieved for that wizard, for that life — even when there was little sense to it. He couldn't change it anymore. He had finally become the wizard he had set himself out to be, just not in the way he had envisioned it. So there was nothing left but to accept it. “I need to.”

“You’re exhausted, you need to rest.” Zenozarax' objection was reasonable as much as it was pointless. Ravalor understood it nevertheless. It wasn't just concern, even when that was undoubtedly a leading factor. But it was also fear in the face of catastrophic change. Zenozarax was, at his core, built to face those situations and react quickly and decisively — that he hesitated now, wanting to delay, spoke only to how much he cared, and how much these last two thousand years had really affected him. Doubting himself rather than to push headfirst into an action that could see Ravalor in danger.

“We have no time.” Then Ravalor added more quietly, “They don't.”

Zenozarax met his eyes for a long and heavy moment. Worry settled into determination, fear into the unshakable confidence of a wizard that had lived millions of years. And it was exactly that confidence that Ravalor now needed more than anything else. In that moment, he wished he could just grasp the other's hand — but the fear of what that amount of memories would do to either of them right now was sobering.

And yet it paled against the fear of what he would see.

“Alright,” Zenozarax finally said, “I won't try to stop you. If this is what you need to do, I’m with you,” he assured him. “But give yourself a few more minutes. Alright? Let’s talk this through because once you do this, you need to be ready to actually handle it. Carefully.”

Ravalor took a deep breath, listening to Zenozarax let the underlying turmoil within him subside, at least a little bit. Who would have thought Zenozarax would be the voice of reason to him one day. Now, with all he knew, it seemed even more outlandish.

But by lords, he clung to it like his life depended on it.

“You’re right.”

“Can you get up?”

Ravalor tried, raising up halfway, almost sitting up, before his mind stuttered again and next he had fallen back into the cushion. “No.” He mumbled, feeling a pang of shame. As if he hadn't already been broken enough.

A horrible fear rose in his core. He was blindly trusting the idea that the bodiless voice he didn't even know was real had suggested that getting whole would actually make this better. But what if it didn't? He would irreparably break the whole of himself. Right now he still had the option to make it all undone. But the idea of simply dying and forgetting all of this seemed ridiculous, arsenine even. Maybe before this he could have justified forgetting again, but not anymore. He needed to remember.

“Once you reconnect with them, you will most certainly suffer the worst reunification shock you ever experienced, but this time you can't just let it happen,” Zenozarax explained, woefully unaware of the existential worry kicked off within Ravalor. “If you now carry not only your own forgotten memories on top of all that has happened to you until now, including the knowledge of chaos and also that of Quadirymir and Sukatar, chances are good you're going to be disabled for a few minutes if not longer. Hell, we’re talking a lifetime amount of memories, thrice over. Depending on where they are, it may raise questions and suspicions. No matter how broken your mind feels in that moment, you can’t show it! Think about what you will say and help them through it! Especially any Part near others — they need to keep standing no matter what. If you collapse before other wizards, they will know.” Zenozarax shook his head slightly.

“It’s possible you can't prevent it from happening. No matter how much willpower you put into it. This is pretty much unprecedented. So if this happens, if anyone see’s, you need to leave even quicker. As soon as you can you need them all to leave. Don't have them come here directly, make two, three jumps—”

“No.” The Stargazer shook his head. “The ship isn't safe. I can’t leave them and I can't just take them.”

Zenozarax stared at him for a brief moment before understanding he was talking about the crew of the Northforce. Including Aeven VonTreva. He didn't seem happy with that revelation, but he switched his tune almost without missing a beat. Just adapting to the new facts.

“In that case, if anyone notices, you’ll have to lie like your life depends on it.” He shrugged halfheartedly, acknowledging that it was exactly like that.

Ravalor listened to the grim finality within every word. And within his expanded memories, it was exactly this finality that was suddenly so familiar which first scared him. Because he remembered how far Zenozarax would go once he was cornered — and one way or another, Ravalor was once more about to be a catalyst for it.

The neural pain flared up once more as he was aware of the gravity of some of the things he now remembered, ever new questions that arose from them, but he couldn't focus on those. Not now. Not until he was safe.

“What about Aeven then?”

The question seared like a molten hot stab through his mind. “What about him?’ he countered, trying to ignore the conflicting sparks of not yet aligned memories.

“Your Warrior is with him,” Zenozarax said like Ravalor could have forgotten about it. “You are a Chaos Wizard now. The one thing he’s sworn to destroy.”

Ravalor hesitated, tenderly trying to focus on the memories of his Warrior. Of the memories of the Aeven he had saved. Their friendship. The genuine trust. And then he only ever so slightly shook his head. “He won't turn on me.”

Zenozarax searched his face for any more than he said, and maybe he even found it. “You sound very certain of that. If you’re wrong—“

“I’m not. You know Aeven. You know he doesn't fight for a cause, he fights for the people he loves.” Ravalor made himself look back up. “And they have become close.” There really wasn't a better way of saying it.

“...?!” Zenozarax understood, then muttered, “Of course, you remember them too.”

“Yes. I don't believe they do, but their memories were there too,” Ravalor said quietly. “I think Aeven already understands, maybe more than the Warrior, that there is something dangerous. Ever since Sukatar spoke to them.” And Ravalor looked to her, and because he couldn't trust his tired face to show the gratitude he felt for the fact that she had put herself in such danger for him he said, “Thank you for that. They have heeded your warning.”

Sukatar gave him a miniscule nod and an even smaller smile that was not more of a twitch in the corners of her mouth that temporarily broke through the frown on her face. But she did appreciate his acknowledgement.

Zenozarax pondered that information about the status of Aeven and the Warrior, looking away with a frown, glancing back at him ever so briefly as if he tried to make sure Ravalor wasn't (against all odds) playing a very ill timed trick at him.

“Do you think,” Sukatar asked as Zenozarax stayed silent. “You can do it again? Find Quadirymir’s parts when you touch him?”

Ravalor shrugged lightly. “I suppose. I saw all of you just there too.” How was he to promise anything at this point when he barely understood what was happening himself or how it worked. But he didn't want to crush the hope he saw in both Sukatar and Moakatar. He noticed how Zenozarax looked up to them too.

“The old man is still alive. And disconnected from the rest of Quadirymir. He doesn't know what happened,” Sukatar said to Zenozarax. “We can use him. We can find him. And kill him.”

“Alright,” Zenozarax finally said and stood up. “Once Ravalor has reconnected to his other Parts we’re on a timer. If all fails, you need to come here immediately, no matter what. Every part of you. You’ll be literally the very thing Mezchinhar fears the most, a chaos wizards in their midst, and you’re already under watch. We’ll need to be very careful, but if you manage to go unnoticed, we might be able to use this to our advantage.”

Concerned, Ravalor raised his brows. “In what way?”

“If we try to kill Quadirymir, we need to kill all of him. And we’ll need every help we can get if we plan to do that. You two, meet me with Xaronzul in the CC,” he said to Moakatar and Sukatar. “We need a proper strategy and fast and there are a lot of uncertainties to consider. Let’s make sure we cover them.”

Ravalor understood what he was saying. Saw the risk and chance in equal measure. But everyone involved would have to agree. The mere suggestion sent his thoughts spiralling. And it all depended on him.

“Ravalor. I need you to listen to me. Keep your focus on me the entire time, and listen. I’ll guide you through it, but it will still be risky,” Zenozarax said, settling down in a leaned forward position on the chair. Their eyes locked. Ravalor nodded.

“Do exactly as I tell you…”

Ravalor - Warrior

The situation in the command centre of the Northforce was tense. But maybe that was just him.

Ravalor, the Warrior, felt horrible. He hadn't slept properly in weeks, which he thought he was getting used to, but the last day had been worse than usual. Where his night had in the recent past reduced to no sleep at all and at most stoically stubbornly pretending while laying in his bed the last night had been like the very motion of the act made the exhaustion he felt worse by a thousand folds.

He didn't understand why, nor did he know if there was anything he could do to fix it. Of course the suspicion was that something was going on with the Stargazer, but really, what did that help?

He hadn't told Aeven. Yet. He had considered the thought, but the execution eluded him as if the act of explaining had become an unsolvable mystery.

But he really didn't have to, his condition became impossible to hide. Aeven was here with him now, quiet but concerned. He saw it in every glance, every word they had exchanged today.

“Another cut out,” Nathaniel noted drily, sending a few quick commands down to engineering to compensate for the small drop in connection within the ship. Only a few seconds later Chief Engineer Dion's voice spoke through the com system.

“There is nothing here that should cause drop outs like this. We checked all the systems thrice over.”

Ravalor's gaze was fixed at the bright panels before him, or maybe on the light haze of the visible wall behind it. It definitely wasn't on any of the information or numbers displayed there. He saw them, but he didn't compute any of them. It was just an array of abstract hieroglyphs scrolling past. He blinked and it didn't change anything.

“Commander?” Nathaniel looked at him, expecting guidance, command, or only an explanation. Maybe he suspected. Aeven probably did.

It was him.

His mental state had deteriorated so badly he failed to hold the very simple and usually not at all demanding passive connection to the ship.

“Make sure the redundancies are ready to take over,” he said, not addressing the real problem. Workaround, patch ups, failsafe redundancies — it was all he had left to do, because he couldn't fix the real problem.

A light touch on his arm, Aeven pulling him slightly back. The Warrior noticed almost absentmindedly how the touch hadn't even startled him. His body was so slow to react that even what thousands of years of conditioning had taught him was lethally dangerous couldn't elicit more than a deep breath. Or maybe he had just expected it, because he trusted Aeven and Aeven was fundamentally still a human, and humans just liked to touch people. He couldn't tell anyone.

“What’s going on?”

Ravalor wanted to answer. “If the ship loses function we can for a while take over with offline redundancies — especially for the environmental systems.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Of course it wasn't.

He looked at Aeven, naturally focusing on his healthy eye, and the genuine concern in his face. He looked so worried, and Ravalor didn't want him to look so worried, even when he had every right to. Ravalor opened his mouth slightly, he wanted to tell him, he wanted to explain it all, desperately so, and he wanted Aeven to understand — but he didn't know how.

The concern he saw turned to alarm, and so he just mildly shook his head like that would explain anything. Or soothe the worry. Of course it didn't.

“Ravalor—” Aeven said quietly, and he said something else after that, but Ravalor could no longer hear him. In fact he heard nothing anymore as his entire perception turned inward.

Suddenly, he felt… peculiar. A tingling emitting from every neural pathway within his body. Every processing node lit up at once. Heat spread out from his core like a pulse that filled every single atom of his being. A purely analytical part of him knew exactly what that meant, because it wasn't the first time he felt it, every wizard was intimately familiar with this feeling. But where that part of his mind had no problem understanding, the rest of himself failed dramatically. And at once, it was there, everything, all of him, all at once, crashing into his mind; he staggered, someone held him by his arms, he might have fallen otherwise, he tried to breathe, the entirety of himself was in chaos. Literally.

The ship turned dark, red alarm lights flashed on, the emergency systems kicked in with a shudder that shook the entire ship. Aeven shouted. But Ravalor couldn't hear nor answer.

Denial. All consuming, powerful denial tried to block out everything, trying to keep him sane for just a second longer — and failed. His sense of time completely disappeared as memories spanning lifetimes were compressed down into minutes.

No— he tried to whisper, his voice failed him, but it was already too late anyways.

What have you done…? But he knew. Good lords, he knew. Everything. He remembered everything. By the lords, everything the Stargazer had done, how he had struggled to make it right — the Warrior, in that moment, where he was whole and the differences between them vanished in a haze of memories and feelings, above all denial and desperate anger, between the fear and horror, and despite his failure, felt an unexpected sense pride he barely understood in the moment.

And then the bone-chilling realisation that he was heading towards his own death.

He had to move now. All of him.

But then there was the voice of the Stargazer.

— Calm yourself. I’m here. We’ll be alright. Trust me just this once. And stay calm.

Calm. Beneath all that chaos was a weird sense of lightness. An enormous relief of finally knowing. Of being whole again. The Warrior felt like he was about to pass out as every neural pathway of his mind screamed for sleep, proper sleep as more and more memories needed to be processed, it was so tempting. But the urgency he felt the Stargazer's commenced kept him standing upright. He understood the vital importance of keeping up appearances.

— We’ll be alright.

The lights flickered on again, the alarm stopped.

Aeven was with him, grasping his arm, “Hey, what’s going on? Please talk to me.”

“I’m…” over.

But that wasn't it. He knew this was just the beginning. But the finality was strangling. His path in time had snapped into place, a suffocatingly narrow one-way street.

“... Fine.”

— Resume your duty!

“Fine?! Ravalor, please—” Aeven sounded genuinely distressed, and somehow it was that fear in the young man's voice alongside the Stargazer's unfamiliar strict command that snapped the Warrior out of the miasma flooding his own mind.

His first instinct was to act. Cut the Northforces beacon off, leave Mezchinhar, have the rest of himself scramble, hide somewhere, immediately — but — that would make everything worse immediately. The Stargazer was right.

He straightened up.

No matter how insane: Right now, nobody knew.

The Wizard and Scholar had been together in Mezchinhar but otherwise alone, still on semi-housarest. Both shocked, frozen for only a moment, before stoically continuing the Wizards work. The Scholar’s hands were trembling. The emotional turmoil within him was barely contained by firm words and better knowledge.

The Kingmaker was on Galast in the cave beneath the lake. He had dropped down against a wall but there was nobody to see it. All three had suffered the same strain as the Warrior the last day, and so they had naturally isolated themself to avoid anyone noticing their unstable state of mind. That shame had turned out to be a blessing now.

Nobody. Knew.

It was all only in his head. And his head felt, besides exhausted, more clear than he could ever remember.

He looked at Aeven. And took his hand.

Aeven was startled by that; it was so unexpected he flinched, but it was just a second.

Again, there was that connection between them, the same Aeven had unwittingly stumbled into when, after his recent ascension to immortality, he had grasped Ravalor's wrist in a moment of confusion.

Aeven was no wizard. But he had become a being of magic. He couldn't speak to him in Vaeh like he would to his other Parts or even, lords forbid, another wizard. But he could make him understand.

Or so he hoped. Because even here, now, inside the Northforce, he didn't dare to speak out loud about what had happened to him. Or what would happen to them.

So he tried to assure Aeven that things were not catastrophic yet by trying to believe it himself.

But there was so much in his mind now, so many memories, of Funnix, of Artlenburg, of Zenozarax. And the situation right now on that distant space station called the Edge of the Universe. And Aeven— Lords. Aeven. He was alive. He felt the guilt the Stargazer had already memorised just fresh for himself.

Instead of calming, whatever sense Aeven got from him wasn't helping. They needed to talk. He needed a diversion. He—

— Northman!

— By the almighty Nord, you will give me a heart attack one day! I don't think we want to find out how that looks in my case. What?

— We need a cover story, logged in the system. We need to go somewhere where Mezchinhar can't see or hear us.

— Okay.

Ravalor had expected questions, a lot of them, matching the amount of guilty thoughts he had; he was prepared for every move he made to be questioned in agonizing detail. But the Northman didn't ask. Instead, only a few seconds later, there was a ping at the console.

“It’s the Northman, Commander,” Nathaniel announced halfway torn between the panels and whatever was happening with him and Aeven.

Aeven looked at the panels reluctantly as well, but Ravalor already accepted it.

“Hei! Ravalor — Cap you there too?” The Northman's voice boomed through the room, cheerfully unaware of the suffocating tension in the room.

“I’m here,” Aeven said reluctantly, glancing back at Ravalor.

“Alright, sorry ‘bout that, Rav, you can have my head for this later, but we got an invite. Well, I got an invite, but since you’re basically extended family—“

“Hatir?” Ravalor asked tensely, That wasn't ideal. Not even good. Hatir wasn't… safe. He shuddered at the thought and its implications.

“Yes, from the King, but it’s Mondwache, so we’re invited to join the pilgrimage to Tyr.”

Oh. That could work. Tyr had begrudgingly accepted some external monitoring of their space but had mostly refused any internal changes to their systems. That and the mostly isolated and small-knit communities under Tyr’s ice domes made it particularly hard for any envoys to infiltrate their society. And Mondwache would be in a few days. This was good. Sooner would have been better but with how limited their options were, this was not only a reasonable excursion given their history, but a safe one as well. At least for a little while. He was aware of the danger he could bring with him — they needed to be smart about this. Careful.

His mind suddenly grabbed onto memories utterly foreign to him and he felt his awareness harden. Quadirymir was tracking them. The ship was compromised. It had been since their first encounter in the space between Hatir and Tyr. He knew exactly where and how, and it suddenly explained the weird power fluctuation they had during that time in their voyage.

But he also knew with absolute certainty that he could not remove that tracker right away. Because if the Stargazer was right, Quadirymir didn't know they knew. This tracker, while compromising, was as much a threat as it was a tactical element they could use to their advantage.

Right now, even though he would be labeled Mezchinhar's sworn enemy from one second to the next, it may even be still feasible to inform them of that tracker. A dangerous game, but an option. Although he would like the Leviathan as far away from Hatir and Tyr as possible.

“When is that?” Aeven asked, still reluctant to even look away from Ravalor who had only secondarily paid attention to the specifics of Mondwache. He already knew all that.

“’Bout three days they leave for Tyr, staying there for two weeks. We can show up any time, though. It’s more like a general open invitation to join. They’ve been hinting, strongly, that they would really like me to come for weeks already. I didn't know if we had the time for it, you know — but hey, here I am asking, because what's the harm in that, eh?”

No matter how irritated Ravalor had been about the Northmen's unplanned ties to Hatir, right now he would like to thank him to hell and back for blatantly ignoring his plea. He would need to be careful actually telling him that — the belief that his godly way was just bound to work out in the end was already strong enough.

“That sounds good. The crew can use some shore leave before we wrap up in this universe,” Ravalor said and if Aeven hadn't been confused and concerned before, he sure was now by the looks of it. Ravalor saw him mouth a silent “What is going on?” And Ravalor hoped the silent plea in his eyes just to play along would be enough.

“Well, then let’s go to Tyr,” Aeven said, and Ravalor almost sighed in relief.

Another connection request pinged at the consoles.

“Commander—,” Nathaniel began to speak, hesitated as he actually read the information, straightened up and began anew, “Commander, connection request from the Leviathan.”