A.N.: We are back with a less than happy reunion. Although it could be worse, I suppose. Please enjoy.
Silence. All around him it was silence, soothing, all-encompassing, suffocating. Of course, he was long past the need for air, but at times he still couldn't shake the urge to draw breath. The muscle memory remained, even lacking the muscles and lungs necessary.
Even after all this time – how long was it? Years, decades, centuries, too long. – it hurt, panic bubbling up in his core as he tried to breathe but couldn't. Wrapped in the deafening silence he screamed – he roared, a sound of rage and anguish and the thick, cold walls echoed it back to him, amplified until he collapsed, drawing his shell tight around him to block out - to trap inside - the sound.
This had happened before, he vaguely recalled. A different darkness, a different room, a different echo – was it him screaming then or someone else? There was someone else, yes. He didn't scream at first, the other. Later, however, when the walls started to feel too close, too heavy, when there was no doubt they were buried and forgotten, left to rot, he found his voice, deep as rolling thunder.
One could lose itself in the rumble and that he did, let the echo wash over him and erase the outside world. Until the last note died away, he could pretend, focusing on the sound waves resonating through his core, that this was all, that he was at peace.
Then the world came crashing back, the thick, black walls of his prison all around and he realized with a start that someone invaded his sanctum. The intruder knelt on the cold stone, head bowed in respect – respect he did not deserve, never did, never will-, the low light of the room glinting off the golden hawk's head of their helmet.
It awakened a memory, a warm smile and gem-green eyes, the image worn blurry by years passed. It was puzzling, both in its simplicity and how out of place it felt, but he had no motivation to inspect it while he had something much more real to scrutinize.
"I see the summoners ensnared yet another fool," he commented, voice cold and flat. No vocal cords meant that no amount of screaming could turn his voice hoarse so he pretended that it never happened. Maybe it never did. Once the noise quieted he could never tell if it was real or just the silence echoing within him. Gods knew he had enough emptiness in him to turn a sigh into a storm.
The intruder looked up and he found himself momentarily disappointed that the sharp eyes boring into him were blue.
"Do you fancy yourself a fool, Master Xerath?" A clear, pleasant voice, its tone one of quiet wonder, but the Magus bristled at it, his temper raising.
"Insolent pest!" he snapped, lifting off his pedestal to tower over the already kneeling form. "Did they send you to torment me?" The bird rose, easily as tall as Xerath, his movements choppy. A fresh Ascended, if Xerath was any judge.
"I came on my own, driven by curiosity once I heard that the summoners stash you away in this chamber when they have no better use for you." Cruel words, but not untrue and Xerath chose not to acknowledge them. "Also, unless my hearing fails me, you have plenty of demons to torment. I do not wish to add to your burden."
Xerath sunk closer to the ground without noticing. Of course it happened, of course the stranger heard. He had no eyes to close, no ears to cover and the only way this man – bird, beast, Ascended – could sneak into his presence undetected was when he was lost in the head he didn't have.
"You are rude and considerate in the same breath. Were you this infuriating before ascending, I wonder?"
"Some say I was. And you, Master Xerath?"
"Was I what?"
"Quite this stubborn in your misery."
Xerath pulsed out a wave of energy, pushing the cheeky intruder away. Lacking face, he could easily play it off as lashing out in annoyance – as the other clearly took the gesture, bending his head in apology – not as reaction to a sharp sting of panic. Someone had asked him that before, again and again, with green eyes and an exhausted kind of fondness, but he couldn't pin a name to it, couldn't recall the face or the voice and clawing at missing memories felt exactly like trying to breathe without lungs.
"I apologize if I overstepped." Xerath turned his attention back to the bird, angling the headpiece of the sarcophagus to mimic a glare.
"What do you want from me? I'm sure that the cur already told you everything about me."
"Nasus is biased. I would much prefer to hear what you have to say."
Suspicion rose in Xerath and he lashed out again, this time on purpose and knocked the bird over.
"You! Curious, was it? They told you I was insane, so you came to stare and prod at the madman, didn't you?" He moved to hover over the golden Ascended, energy cracking over the sarcophagus, reflecting his thunderous rage.
Head tilted to the side, the bird appeared sad and remarkably calm for someone in his situation.
"Almost, but not quite. You have been locked in a dark hole with a mad warrior for a thousand years. I have no doubts about the state of your sanity now. What I do have to wonder about is the state of your sanity when you committed treason."
Xerath reared up with a roar, energy arcing between his hands, ready to strike down the insolent bastard, but he let it harmlessly dissipate in the air in the last moment. The bird was infuriating, but he was not worth antagonizing the summoners – petty mages, pesky morsels – holding his leash.
"You're out of your luck, little hawk. I remember waking from agony, already in the dark, with a crocodile for company. That's all I can recall from that time." A half-truth at best, but he had only Renekton's madness, pain and those memories for company for decades upon decades upon decades and he refused to recall them for the whimsy of a freshly ascended feather duster.
"Of course. I understand." The bird hung his head again in what Xerath guessed to be disappointment. "Maybe it is for the better. Thank you for your time and patience, Master Xerath. I shall not bother you longer."
He turned to leave, but Xerath lifted a hand and pulled, exerting some of his magic to hold him back.
"Wait. Favor for a favor. I answered your question, now answer me. Why do you insist calling me 'master'?"
The bird paused, not fighting the hold, but not turning back to face Xerath either.
"Are you not a master of the arcane? You earned your title, even if your actions earned you another, less favorable one. Alas,-" He hesitated, only for a moment. "-favor for favor. The summoners plan to move you to the Shuriman main building, once the construction is finished. Do you have any request about your accommodations? A room with a view, perhaps?" The bird tilted his beak up, glancing at the bare ceiling. "Maybe even a window to the night sky."
It struck Xerath speechless, the generosity of the offer. Four walls leant heavy on him for every moment of his existence not spent in the mock battles of the summoners and the prospect of seeing the sky at his own leisure again awoke a longing he thought long forgotten.
"Who are you to offer something like that?" he demanded, his invisible hold tightening to a point that must have been painful. The golden Ascended just chuckled with bitter humor, the sound echoing back to them in a cascade.
"Why, I am Azir, of course."
In a moment of shock his hold faltered and Azir slipped from the room, heavy magic proof door slinging shut after him. Just in time, for a moment later Xerath fell against it like a vicious beast, clawing at and pounding on the stone with fists that couldn't even scratch the surface, arcane lightning pouring from his form and crawling harmlessly over every available surface – the summoners, may the jackals feast on their innards, prepared well for his outbursts.
"COME BACK YOU COWARD! COME BACK AND FACE ME!" There was no answer from the other side of the door, but he did not cease his pounding. "HE SAID THAT YOU DIED! THEY SAID THAT YOU DIED, THAT YOU ARE DEAD AND DUST! YOU CAN'T JUST WALK AWAY LIKE THAT YOU COWARD!"
The walls echoed back his words, a cacophony of dead and dust and coward until Xerath's rage ran dry and he floated back to the center of his room, his sanctuary, his prison and chose to savor the last sounds of the echoing noise.
If Azir planned on staying true to his word and did not simply dangle the hope of better accommodations in front of him as a form of torture, he won't have to listen to the echoes much longer.
A.N.: This was an older chapter I wrote when I first toyed with rebooting the series that I touched up on a bit so I'm not quite happy with it, but I don't really dare to touch it more.
Reviews and critique are always welcome and I'm exceptionally open to title suggestions. Although it might be better to stick with this, for continuity's sake.
Next up: aftermath, meeting Taliyah and a peek into Azir's thoughts.