Sukatar I

08.02.2026

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.

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