Here I stand. I only have myself and the many spawn I guard as if they had been my own. If they had been hers I would have guarded twice as loyal. No light ever shines within this cell of mine. This sunless cell. As I sharpen my blade and seek the strongest of nearby Thrall to practice the Sword Logic, I ask myself: How did it come to this?

Oryx granted not a single task of me. He threw me into the center of death so I may die and learn from it. But I was sharper. Sharper than any other within the sea of bodies and harvesting of light. He planned this of me. For me to sharpen myself and become a sword. Yet when my axe could cut through space and my footsteps split the Earth, the King vanished. Unconcerned. Was this the end of his plan? To make me into a sword so it may simply be put on a shelf? Unused and coated with dust?

No. The Sword was made strong with tithe. It was meant to wield itself. As is the way of the deep. However, there is always a hand. Even for Oryx, there is a hand that drives him. His hand is the bargain. The Deep. The final shape. I deemed my vision the same. But my hand. The hand that wielded me, the strong sword, the hand of Verok. That which I burn to love and kill. Her dark complexion wields me as her sword.

It was Verok that drove me to take my place as King of Shapes. I already knew that once I sat upon the throne, I would take up my sword and carve a new one, so the Wizard that empowers me would become Queen of shapes by my side.

It was within a chamber, deep inside my Brother's castle in the heart of a moon, that the Wizard used my flesh to become mother. Here she laid her spawn with me as their gatekeeper. I promised that once we King and Queen of shapes, our spawn would kill their way to become a new generation of Hive Gods.

Together, we marched upon the King's throne with those who sought a new king themselves. My blade was sharp enough to cut the deep itself into submission. But just as my power had peaked, Oryx was tenfold. His wings blotted out the sun, I could not see him. His echo he had sent forth, I could not reach him. His wrath and laughter in my mind. I could not escape him.

Mother and Prince, Oryx divided us. A shattered blade. It was she who possessed me to seek the throne. It was her promise to pass on my brood as her own that made me sharp. She was a greater push than any worm bargain. Than any claims of a final shape.

I sat within my Sunless cell, dreaming of only that Wizard within here to join me, we alone, to form a new nest. Now the blade is locked within a chest. With no sun to give me sight, I cannot see what hand will be the first to open the lock. I can only hope for that godly mother to be the Hand...