Sukatar II

03.05.2026

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.

Please log in to leave and read comments.