Despite the things she had heard that day, Meldinare felt no closer to an answer. But on the seventh night, though she was not ready, the Architect's light once again shined down on her chambers. Immediately, and against all the customs of her people, she prostrated herself before Him.
"Lo," the Architect said. "You have learned humility well, my loyal servant. I have returned to offer you the last of my teachings. Have you an answer to the question I posed?"
"Oh Lord," said Meldinare. "Forgive me, but I have no answer. I am not worthy of your grace."
At those words, the Architect's light flared up in a blinding surge.
"I have judged your worth myself! Who are you to say you are not worthy!? Now give your answer!"
"Forgive me!" Meldinare bowed even lower. "I have thought long and hard, but I can think of no reason. I have lived until now indulging in the greatest vices imaginable. I have done nothing to embody the teachings you imparted to me. No action I could take would make me worthy of your love."
All at once, the Architect's light calmed, and a great peace came over Meldinare.
"So it is thus," the Architect said. "For it was not any action of yours that made you worthy of my grace. No man is worthy of himself. Your worth comes from my grace alone. And thus, the one who recognizes their own worthlessness, who repents their own sin, is the one most able to spread these teachings to my people. For you alone understand what wonders grace can accomplish."
"Abbess," Brother Pnaddio said, breaking Jibril's concentration. She glanced up from her copy of the Book of Visions to glare at him. They all should have known better than to enter her chambers during the meditation hours. But after a moment, she calmed herself. Anger was unbecoming of a servant of the Architect. A Child of Humility would not forget his teachings so readily, she had made sure of that long ago. There must have been a reason he was interrupting her.
"What is it?" she asked, closing the book.
"The leader of the villagers is requesting to speak with you, Abbess."
"These are the meditation hours. I will hear her concerns after."
"And I told her as much. But she has been rather insistent, and the other villagers have begun to gather. They won't disperse peacefully."
"Very well." Jibril stood up and placed the book back on the shelf, next to the other Holy Scriptures. The spine was worn considerably compared to its siblings. She often found herself returning to it to reaffirm her faith in troubling times. She had read it almost daily since the World Tree's collapse. Less since the monster had begun its pursuit, but she still found every opportunity to return to the words written therein. She did her best not to let the interruption color her perception of this disgruntled villager, but it was difficult.
The woman in question was standing outside the abbey, poised like a disappointed mother ready to discipline her child. She was an older woman, probably in her mid-fifties, with graying blue hair and wrinkled eyes. But she was sharp, despite her age and general heavyset build. Jibril could tell from her gaze that she'd been a warrior, once.
The other villagers had gathered behind her, forming a small crowd. A few had armed themselves with farming implements and other such improvised weaponry. If she wasn't careful, they might have a peasant revolt on their hands. Not that these villagers posed much of a threat, but she would deeply regret the loss of life such a thing would incur.
"I was told you wanted to speak with me," she said, stepping through the abbey's gate.
"That was quick," the woman said. "Your guards said you'd be a while. I figured I'd be here until sundown."
"You've decided to bring a small army to my doorstep. You made it very clear how much patience you have."
"Our doorstep," one of the villagers said. "And we ain't no army. It's harvest season, so everyone in the village helps out. Though I guess that doesn't apply to you, does it?"
"That's what this is about?" Jibril asked. "Unfortunately, our duties keep us too busy."
"That's not the issue," the woman said. "Your monks have been stealing from our granaries. Winter's coming in a few months. A lot of villagers are going to starve without that food."
"The Children of Humility are numerous, and I am responsible for their wellbeing. We have only taken what we need to sustain ourselves, as the Architect taught us. Nothing more."
"The Architect taught you to steal, did he?"
"All that man produces is the Architect's bounty. All men are welcome to it, so long as they believe in the good word."
"You're making this very hard," the woman said. "When you came out of the Spirit Crucible, we didn't ask any questions. We gave you shelter, we gave you supplies, and we let you build your abbey in peace. But if you're not going to honor that peace, then you need to leave."
"I thought to bring faith to this village. I thought that perhaps the presence of the abbey would serve as an example, and that you would see the importance of Meldinare's teachings."
"I'm a woman of faith too. Or I used to be, anyway. I've got a copy of the books, same as you. I sent my son to school in Indol so he could learn what I couldn't teach him. But the Architect didn't create us so we could trample over each other. If you believe the things you claim to teach, Abbess, you'll return our food."
"I want to help your people, believe me. But my Children need that food."
"Mine do too."
"Then perhaps we could reach an agreement?" Jibril asked. "Distribute the supplies proportionally?"
"I'd feel more comfortable with that if you contributed to the work. Or if you'd bothered asking before you took half a year's worth of food."
"I realize the situation is hard. But I believe we can reach a compromise to keep our people fed."
"Compromise?" one of the villagers asked. He hefted a scythe and stepped forward, standing next to the woman. "You took our food, and you want us to accept a compromise?"
"What I want is communication. A chance to work this out without violence."
"You're the ones who stole from us. It's a little late for that."
Jibril tensed, ready to draw her fans and defend herself. She'd seen peasant uprisings before, during the reign of Negaris in Gormott. Like any attempt to fight the Architect's will, it always ended in tragedy. She had hoped this time would be different.
"Caephon," the woman said, putting a hand on the man's shoulder. "Don't."
It caught her off guard a little. She'd been in almost this exact same position over and over again. Always, someone had a grievance and decided the only way to address it was through bloodshed. She rarely saw individuals try to seek an alternative, and she'd certainly never seen it work.
"What are we supposed to do, just let the walk over us?"
"No." The woman stepped forward. "But we had a surplus last year, so we can spare some food. If you're willing to agree to some conditions."
Jibril thought for a moment. Supplies were stretched thin as it was, and giving up the food they'd taken would likely lead to starvation. But following the Architect meant patience. Humility. Ultimately, the Architect would provide for His servants.
"Very well," she said. "It is preferable to bloodshed. Though I have no desire to speak out here, in this heat. Would you like to speak inside?"
She gestured at the abbey, and the woman seemed hesitant. It was hardly neutral ground for negotiations, but Jibril had meditations to return to. And it would be a sin to spill blood on consecrated ground. But the woman hardly had any reason to trust them, so she gestured at the guards to step back.
"Alright," the woman said. She stepped forward, and a few other villagers followed her. Most of the rest dispersed, returning to whatever they had been doing before, but a few stayed behind. The armed ones. It seemed their distrust ran deep.
Jibril led the villagers back to her meditation room. One of the only places she could speak with her new guests in private. It was smaller and less decorated than her room in their previous abbey, but that was a good thing in its own way. It was important to maintain humility, after all.
As she reached for the door to the room, however, something felt wrong. There was ether resonance radiating from inside the room. But it felt stronger than the resonance she was used to from other Blades. There was a pull to it. It was a sensation she had not experienced before.
"Would you excuse me for a moment?" she asked, turning to her guests. "You caught me in the middle of meditation, and it would be improper of me to leave it unfinished. Brother Pnaddio will take you to the common room. I should only be a few minutes behind."
She gestured at her attendant, bidding him to take the guests down the hall. Reluctantly, he did so. One of the benefits of her position was that her Children trusted her implicitly. After the guests were gone, she opened the door.
A man was in her room, reading through her copy of the Book of Visions. He looked Ardainian, at a glance, with wavy blonde hair. He wore a set of ancient Tornan armor, though, and Jibril only knew one group who still clung to such things. She had assumed they'd all perished at the foot of the World Tree alongside Indol, but apparently, she was mistaken. Which meant he was no man.
"Torna," she said, drawing her fans. "You degenerates managed to survive? Are you here to finish your work?"
"Hardly," the man said. "We gave that up when the world ended. You're the only one here still clinging to the past, Jibril."
"Silence, heretic. I will not suffer an enemy of the Architect in my abbey."
"Why is it always like this with you people?" he asked, turning around to face her. "I can't even breathe without some quaestor telling me it's the Architect's will. Amalthus was the worst about it, too. Never knew when to shut up."
"You aren't fit to say his name."
"He didn't tell you about me, did he?"
"He told me enough," Jibril spat. "You're a member of Torna. Your existence is an affront to the Architect himself."
"That's not really what I meant." The man opened his collar, revealing a fan shaped Core Crystal. She had been expecting the coloration of a cannibal, but his core was clean. Unsullied. More than that, though, it was familiar. It had the same pattern of ridges as hers.
"Impossible," she muttered. But the resonance she felt from the man said otherwise. She felt a pull toward it that she couldn't explain. Like two halves desperately trying to become one.
"He experimented on us for years," the man said. "Refugees from Torna, mostly, but there were others. Fodder for his Blade Eater experiments. I'm sure he told you about those at least."
She nodded. But to her knowledge, Amalthus had only created one pair in recent memory. Prince Ozychlyrus and his Blade. Was it possible her core was split like that? That this man possessed part of it?
"I think he was trying to become immortal," the man continued. "But I guess we'll never know for sure. Whatever the case, I was the first experiment that succeeded, and in the process, I must have woken you up."
"Praetor Amalthus is my Driver," she said. Though she'd had doubts about that for some time. She had hoped her survival was a sign, or a miracle perhaps. But it seemed the Architect had other plans.
"If that were true, you'd be dead."
"I…" She leaned back against the door. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. It didn't make any sense. Which meant he had to be lying. Trying to trick her, somehow. She wouldn't fall for it.
She lashed out, swinging her fans for his head, but he seemed prepared. He raised his hands, flicking out an identical pair of fans and blocking her attack.
"Sorry," he said. "I wish I was lying too, but…"
He just let the statement hang as she studied the fans. They were hers, no mistake. She could feel a connection with them through the ether. Either he was telling the truth, or the stress had finally driven her over the edge. Either way, there wasn't much she could do but pray.
"By the Architect," she said, lowering her fans. "This… I don't know how to deal with this."
"I'd recommend slowly," he said. He stepped back, giving her space as she walked over to her chair. She slumped in it, letting her fans clatter to the floor.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, glaring up at him. She'd work through the rest of this later, but the fact still remained that he was a member of Torna.
"I wanted to warn you, if you can believe it. The Coalition is coming for your head."
"I know that. They sent that monster after me months ago."
"You mean Herald?" the man asked. "They were just a warning. This time, they aren't going to hold back. They'll be launching an offensive soon. Tomorrow, at the latest. You're running out of time."
"I am prepared," Jibril said. "I have been preparing for this eventuality for months. I have a hard time believing that you'd come here just to warn me."
"I…" The man sighed. "I've been alive a long time, and I'm ashamed to admit I never even knew you were alive until a few months ago. I knew that, theoretically, there had to be a Blade that accompanied this." He tapped the core on his chest. "But for a long time, I was too busy trying to survive. And then I was too angry to think it through. And now that I've got the chance to make that right, somehow, I barely have the time."
"You spent years killing my brothers and sisters. I have very little interest in making up for lost time, even if you are my Driver."
"I was trying to do this gracefully," he said. "But I'll get to the point. I'm dying."
"I see," Jibril said. Which meant she was dying too. Not something she was particularly bothered by, really. It would mean she'd be with the Architect soon. "Looking to have your last rites?"
"Nah, I'm not a believer. But I wanted to die without regrets, you know? And this?" He motioned between the two of them. "One of the big ones. Plus, you deserved to know."
"Was that it?"
"Was—Are you serious? We're both going to drop dead in a couple months. I figured you'd be a little more… I don't know, bothered, I guess."
"Everything in life is as the Architect wills. If it is my time, then so be it. He has His reasons. It changes very little."
"You know, Zeke warned me you'd be a little zealous, but I wasn't expecting this."
"I simply have faith," Jibril said. "It seems to be a rarity in these trying times."
"Seems more like you're in denial, to me."
"I understand that, as a heretic, you lack faith. But I would think you'd at least understand the basics of the concept."
"Believe me, I understand plenty," the man said. "You're a real blue-blooded Praetorian, through and through. I was hoping there'd be something left in there to reason with, but I guess Amalthus had his hands on you for too long for that to be the case."
"Silence," Jibril said, lurching to her feet. She'd tolerated the words of a heretic once before, when the Prince had come to negotiate. She would not do it again. "Whether you are my Driver or not, you are still a member of Torna. You consorted with cannibals and sank the Praetorium. I will not tolerate any more of your sinful presence."
"The rest of the world moved on. Why can't you?"
"You are a heretic. That is not something I can forgive."
The man burst out laughing at that, and immediately Jibril picked up her fans again, pointing them at him while he doubled over. She nearly struck him down then and there for the insult, but though she did not fear death, she had no desire to hasten its approach. So she stayed her hand.
"Sorry," he said. "I just… Wow. Even Amalthus wasn't that brazen."
"What are you blathering about?"
"Your books." The man pointed at the shelf. "I read them once when I was a kid. The family I worked for was very pious, and they made sure all the servants knew the scriptures. Which I always thought was funny, considering owning slaves is the first thing the Architect yells at Meldinare for. It took me a long time to realize they never believed any of it. It was just words to them. Pretty, convenient words. Excuses that helped them sleep at night, so long as they didn't think about what those words actually meant. That family, so pious and righteous, hadn't ever read a page of scripture in their lives. That's what the servants were for."
"How dare you," Jibril said. "I am the Architect's most loyal servant. I embody the scriptures with my every action."
"Really? Because it's been a while, but I don't remember the Architect saying that forgiveness was only for a chosen few. It was supposed to go to everyone. And that includes me. And you."
"Sophistry. Heretics are adept at twisting the scriptures to suit their own ends."
"I guess that makes Amalthus the biggest heretic of them all, then. The only thing he believed in was his own hatred. And for a long time, that was the only thing I believed in either. But that's no way to live. Rex and Nia taught me that. I guess I was hoping you'd believe it too."
She knew she shouldn't listen to him. He was a heretic. It was inevitable that he would attempt to lead her astray. But every response she could have given him felt hollow. And she'd been plagued by doubts ever since the World Tree's fall. Amalthus had often preached of his desire to create a better world, but his actions did not follow the path of Meldinare. She had often wondered about this, and he always told her it was a necessary evil. A result of man's imperfections.
But Amalthus's heaven had never arrived. Instead, the only thing he brought was death. At the time she had convinced herself that was righteous, in its own way. Bringing the faithful to the Architect's side. And she had vowed to carry on his legacy, to remind people that they had yet to truly change this sinful world. But that was not one of the Architect's teachings.
It was a mask. Created to obscure the wearer's true intentions behind the language of belief. Amalthus had worn that mask well. And so had she. She had committed a sin against the people of this village, against the Architect Himself, and justified it with the Architect's teachings. She was hardly fit to accuse anyone of heresy.
"You have said your piece," she said. "Now take your leave. I have other matters to attend to."
"Listen, Jibril, I don't think you're really hearing me here. The Coalition is bringing an army, and they aren't going to stop until they burn this whole place down and put everyone here to the sword. This is not a fight you can win."
"The Architect is on our side," Jibril said. "We will prevail by His grace."
"That isn't…" the man pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "It's like talking to a damn brick wall with you, I swear. There is no help coming for you, you know that right?"
"Prince Ozychlyrus said as much when he visited some weeks ago. I have prepared accordingly."
"There's nothing to prepare for!" the man insisted. "If you stay to fight, it'll be a slaughter!"
"Then what do you propose?" Jibril asked. "I have a duty to protect my Children. I will not leave them to be rounded up like animals by the Coalition."
"You could evacuate," the man offered.
"A mere stay of execution. If we do not stand our ground, we will be hunted for the rest of our days."
"I'm not saying you should run forever. Just don't engage. Leave the Coalition to us."
"Us?"
"The Gardens aren't going to support another war," the man said. "We've got allies trying to hold the Coalition back."
"Relying on heretics…" Jibril muttered. Then she cracked a smile. It was rather unlike what Amalthus had taught her, but the path of Meldinare was open to all those who would act in the name of the Architect's will. Even heretics.
"I suppose it's a good thing Shieldwall failed, then. Otherwise I'd be dead."
"Yeah. We're all very thankful. Now what's it going to be?"
"If you are here, then it must be a sign from the Architect," Jibril said. "We must restrain ourselves from the path of violence. My men will begin evacuating the abbey shortly."
"Good." Mikhail nodded. "Where will you go?"
"That I do not know," Jibril admitted. "But with the time I have left, I will ensure the safety of my Children. Now, I have other business to attend to before the Coalition's assault begins. I bid you farewell, Driver."
"Hardly," the man said, opening the door. "I'll be in touch once things with the Coalition calm down, so we can figure out a more permanent solution to all this."
"I dread to think what another conversation with a heretic might do to me," Jibril said. "But if it keeps my Children alive, then so be it. We will be in touch."
The man nodded and left the room, and as he did, the woman from the village and her companions barged their way in. They appeared to have been waiting for some time.
"Sorry," the woman said. "You were taking a while."
"It was important," Jibril said.
"Who was that?"
"My Driver. He came to say his goodbyes."
"Are you all leaving?"
"At least temporarily," Jibril said. "Our presence here has inflamed tensions with the Coalition, so it would be unwise to remain. But that is neither here nor there. I have decided there is merit to your grievances. Your food will be returned to you before we leave."
The woman didn't seem to have a response. She had come here prepared to negotiate and make difficult choices on behalf of her people. But this woman had wanted to avoid violence, and Jibril wanted the same thing. She was very, very tired of violence. So she could honor their request. The Architect would provide what her Children needed to survive.
Before the woman could muster her reply, however, a violent shock rang throughout the abbey. Outside her window, smoke began to rise, and she could see monks running to secure the gate. She knew what was happening even before her Driver came running back into the room. The Coalition was here.
Niall could almost smile as the first shells hit the abbey. He didn't enjoy the brutality, but it was still a thing to celebrate, that Urayana and Ardainian ordinance were no longer pointed at each other. The Praetorians had been an excellent help in that regard. So eager to lash out at everyone around them that all he had to do was let the others see what they had planned. Now, the whole Coalition was here to send the message that the world would move forward, not backward. That progress would have the final say.
"They're shutting the gates," General Reez said. "No shields, no artillery to speak of. It looks like your hunch was right. Shieldwall took the last of their Core Chip supply."
"Good," Niall said. "Press the assault on the Spirit Crucible too. We can't let them escape."
"I'll notify the others."
Reez began issuing orders to his comms officer, announcing the strike on the Spirit Crucible. The plan was to push the assault on the other entrance, where they'd been at an uneasy stalemate with the Praetorians for months. Eventually the enemy would retreat. Right to here, where the army would be waiting for them.
There was one disappointment, however. Mòrag would never have approved of this measure, so he'd organized the assault behind her back. It felt deceptive, and he hated being deceptive. It reminded him too much of their mother's way of doing things. But once the dust settled and Leftheria finally joined the Coalition, his siter would surely understand why it was necessary.
"I should go talk to the villagers," Niall said. "Assuage their concerns. It'd be good to head the inevitable issues off now, while they're still manageable."
"I wouldn't advise it," Reez said. "It was a bad idea to let you be here at all, but I can't change that now, so I'll be damned if I'm going to let you wander off on your own before the dust even finishes clearing."
"I'll just be a moment. I wouldn't want to impose too much on a Coalition operation, after all. Queen Raqura wouldn't take too kindly to that."
"I agree with the stiff," a voice said, catching Niall by surprise. He turned to see a woman in a poncho, with a wide-brimmed had pulled over her eyes and a gun on each hip. She stood in the middle of the tent as if she hadn't just snuck or fought her way past an entire battalion. Reez reached for his axe, but she was a much quicker draw, and she had her guns out and aimed at them before he could even get his grip. That was enough to stop him from going any further.
"And who might you be?" Niall asked, doing his best to remain unbothered. He was accustomed to people threatening his life, at this point. Her weapons looked Blade-powered, so she probably wasn't from Shieldwall. A Spessian mercenary, maybe? Or one of Walraig's companions?
"The name's Nal," she said. "And I'd appreciate it if ya' told errand boy to back down."
"It's alright, Reez," Niall said, putting a hand on the general's shoulder. Reluctantly, Reez let go of his axe, and Nal put her guns away.
"Relax," she said. "I ain't here to kill ya'. But I'd appreciate it if ya' cooled it with the big guns. I've got a friend in there."
"Are you here to negotiate on behalf of the Praetorians, then?"
"Ha. No. They've been tryin' to kill me for years. But a friend of mine's in there tryin' to talk some sense into 'em. I ain't letting him get killed in yer big publicity stunt."
"That is unfortunate," Niall said. "But I'm sure your friend is fine. The attack has been mostly for show thus far. The hope was we could scare them into surrendering without too many casualties."
"Yer mother said somethin' very similar in Duthract," Nal said. "That didn't stop her from leveling four housing blocks to get at us, though."
"You're with Brionac," Niall noted.
"Was, more like. I left around the time they started takin' money from the Senate. I'm more freelance these days. My current gig's with your friend, Nia."
"Ah. You aren't going to tell me she's the one in there, are you?"
"Nah, she ain't that dumb. But she did tell me to pass on a message. Said this wasn't what ya' wanted, back then. That this wasn't goin' to put an end to things."
"Interesting," Niall said. "And what do you think? Should I simply let the Praetorians go free?"
"Fuck if I know." The woman shrugged. "I never really cared about the big decisions. But from where I'm standin', yer a real red-blooded Ardainian emperor. Which I think is what Nia was afraid of."
"Well, if she wants to scold me, she's welcome to do it in person." Niall walked past Nal and lifted the tent flap. He still had villagers to sway, after all, and he wasn't going to sit here and be intimidated like this.
"We ain't done," she said, grabbing his shoulder. "Tell yer goons to cut the barrage."
"Lieutenant," Niall said, glancing at the comms officer. "Tell the colonel to destroy their gate, then hold his fire. We're starting phase two of the operation."
"Sir," the officer said. Quickly, he began relaying the order.
Niall thought for a moment that Nal wouldn't let go. But after a second or two of hesitation, she released her hold and nodded.
"It'll have to do. But I s'ppose Nia's gonna be disappointed. I think she had some kinda expectations."
"So did I," Niall said. "The world doesn't always work out the way we want it to."
"I'll drink to that. Yer old enough to drink, right?"
"I'm the emperor," he said, giving her a wry smile. "I don't exactly have anyone who can tell me no."
She wasn't amused.
"Yeah," she said, frowning. "Just make sure to keep yer head about ya', yeah? Wouldn't want to lose it."
And there it was. The first proper threat. He didn't really take these encounters seriously until it happened, but after what she'd said, he was beginning to think it wouldn't happen at all. Nia wasn't the type to send an assassin after him. But he didn't get the sense that this woman was acting solely for Nia's benefit. She admitted to working for Brionac in the past, so he couldn't rule out that she was doing so again. Which would make sense, given her history.
"I'll do that," he said. "Good day, Ms. Nal."
"Right." She stepped forward, brushing past Niall and leaving the tent. As she did, her skin began to shimmer and fade. By the time she was through the flap and on the other side, she'd completely disappeared.
"Call security," Reez said, glaring at the comms officer. "I want the whole camp swept, top to bottom."
"No point," Niall said. "That was Nal, the Shattered Blade. If she doesn't want you to find her, you won't."
"You know her?"
"She was in a few intelligence reports on Brionac some years back, but it took me a moment to put the details together. By all accounts, she's supposed to be dead."
"So we've got a former member of Brionac on the loose, and you're still going out for a stroll?"
"If you're so concerned about my safety, you're welcome to accompany me. But I'm going to that village. Someone needs to be the voice of reason here."
"Reason is for when the shells stop flying," Reez said.
"Well, thanks to our guest, they have."
"I swear…" Reez shook his head and grabbed his axe. "Fine. Lieutenant, tell Godfrey to lead the charge without me."
Niall left the tent, and Reez followed him, axe slung over his shoulder. The man was dependable, all things considered. He'd half expected Reez to let him go on his own, without a protection detail. In the event there were any subsequent assassinations attempts, it would mean one less Ardainian to deal with. Though, considering Reez seemed to be escorting him alone, it might not make a difference. Niall had seen the man in battle, and it was a far cry from his sister's ability. In the end, he was still relying on himself to see this through.
As they left the camp, however, they ran into the infantry backline. The Urayan contingent. These troops were supposed to be on the other side of the Titan by now, attacking the abbey. Niall stopped, trying to figure the situation out as news of his arrival began spreading through the ranks.
"Soldier!" Reez barked, walking up behind Niall. "What's the holdup!?"
"Sir!" the soldier shouted, giving Reez a salute. "Sorry, sir! Commander's put us on hold for some reason!"
"Tell your commander I'll put my boot in his ass if he doesn't get it in gear! You're supposed to be at the target by now!"
"Commander's up on the front line, sir! If you'd like, I can—"
"Thank you," Niall said. "We'll speak with him ourselves."
"Of course," the soldier said. Niall thought he could hear a trace amount of disdain in the man's voice. Still, that was progress of a kind. Three years ago, Urayan soldiers would have shot him on sight.
"Clear a path!" Reez bellowed. The soldiers complied, moving aside to let him and Niall through. Eventually, the Urayans gave way to Ardainians, the frontline infantry for this particular assault. Niall had picked them for the job because he didn't want to be accused of sending others' troops to die. When they saw him approaching, they cleared a path with barely a word spoken, right to the front of the front line. Where Niall saw the last person he'd wanted to see today.
Mòrag was standing in the infantry's path, backed by the rest of the Restoration Department's forces and a handful of Blades and Drivers that he didn't recognize. Rex was here too, casting an uncharacteristic glare out across the gathered ranks.
Godfrey and the other division commanders were trying to argue with them, but they didn't seem to be making much progress. And with both the Special Inquisitor and the Aegis Driver staring them down, none of the soldiers seemed keen to push the issue any further.
Why was she here? More importantly, what was she doing? She'd seen the same reports he had. Spessia had left the Praetorians out to dry, but the Abbess still refused to work with the Coalition. Which meant if they didn't do something quickly, Sthenos would sweep through and annihilate the remaining Preatorians, tossing Leftheria to the whims of Spessia and their budding alliance. And if Leftheria fell, the Coalition would be trapped by enemies on all sides. So why was she here, obstructing a critical operation? There had to be more going on.
"Mòrag," he said, stepping up next to Godfrey. "I'm glad you could make it."
"Yes," she said, her gaze fixed on the battalion of troops behind them. "Which is why I'm sure you kept this operation a secret for three months. Did I really have to hear about this from Nia?"
"I didn't want to bother you," Niall said. "Things seemed busy at the department."
"My job is to keep track of threats, Niall, and the Praetorians are chief among them. I would think you'd keep me abreast of something like this."
"This is a military operation, Mòrag. And you quit the military, remember? It wasn't really up to me."
"We don't give out operational details," Reez said. Niall was grateful for the assistance. For some reason, Mòrag was sounding accusatory. What did she think was happening here?
"Convenient," Mòrag said. "And what is the goal of this operation, exactly? Are we taking the Praetorians into custody?"
"We can't let them do as they pleased indefinitely," Niall said. "I detest using excessive force, but with everything on your plate recently, I thought I could take care of this one myself."
"By illegally mobilizing the Coalition military."
"I resent that," Reez said. "The Coalition granted the military broad authority to deal with the Praetorians however we want, so long as we abide by the Elysian Treaty. Everything here is above board."
"And I told you after the summit that I would handle this on my own."
"You haven't produced results."
"I issued an appropriate response, and they've been quiet ever since. Unless they launch another attack on Coalition soil, I'd call those results."
"Be that as it may," Reez said, "Their existence is a threat to the Coalition's safety. It's my job to take the appropriate measures."
"And this is what that looks like?"
"Mòrag," Niall said. "Talk to me. What's going on with you?"
"What's going on with me?" she asked. She looked down at Niall, and she looked angry. Or hurt. Maybe both. "You decided to launch a full-scale invasion of Leftheria, and you think there's something wrong with me?"
"They—" Niall fumbled for words. He'd hoped it wouldn't come to this. Mòrag had always been his strongest pillar of support, and now she was accusing him of this?
"This operation is strictly defensive," Reez said. "We'll be gone within the month, once all the inevitable stragglers have been mopped up."
"Really?" Mòrag asked, not taking her eyes off Niall. "Then what are you doing here, Niall?"
"I thought the general could use the help," he said. "Once the dust settles, I can't imagine the locals will be very happy. With things more or less under control at home, I've got some free time on my hands, so I thought I'd stay and smooth things over. Ensure the locals that we're just here to keep them safe."
"Are we?"
"It sounds like you've already made up your mind on that point, so why don't you tell me?"
"We all know that if you destroy this abbey, the Children of Humility aren't going to simply give up. You'll be dealing with them for months. Years, more likely. Years of Coalition military presence in Leftheria that Spessia and Duthract aren't going to let stand. This is exactly the same excuse Mor Ardain used in Osiria, and it's going to prompt the same response. Limited military action against one Urayan company spiraled into eight years of brutal war, all over a trade dispute. What do we hope to get out of it this time? And do you really think it's worth a war with Spessia?"
"We don't have a choice," Niall said. "Spessia and Duthract already want a war, and this is a strategic position. It's better we hold it than the enemy. Otherwise, we can't ensure our own safety, much less the safety of the people here."
"That wasn't my question. What does the Coalition want from Leftheria?"
"I just want to keep the world safe, Mòrag. You know that."
"Answer the damn question!" she shouted.
Niall stumbled back, startled. It had been years since she'd raised her voice at him. Maybe decades. He didn't think she'd get so hung up on this. They used to always be on the same page. Why couldn't she understand?
"I already told you," he said, exasperated.
"Not by a long shot. You're a great many things, Niall, but you are not a good liar."
Ah. That's what she was getting at. It wasn't a lie, really, but he and Mòrag were close enough that it did feel like a deception of a kind. He did really want to keep these people safe. But she was right. That wasn't their only goal.
"Core Chips," he admitted. "Leftheria has Titans aplenty, and we're still woefully undersupplied. If we want to fight a war with Spessia and win, after all the people we lost in the Cataclysm, after half the Nopon Guilds have defected, after Duthract revolted and half a dozen terrorist organization cropped up overnight and a Sthenosi chieftain threatened to take my life!?"
Just as he raised his voice, he stopped and took a moment to compose himself. He didn't like becoming so emotional, but the past few months had put him under a great deal of strain. He needed things to go smoothly here, not just for the Coalition, but for his own sanity.
"Then we need Core Chips," he continued, doing his best to look his sister in the eye. "And these Titans are the last untapped supply. It's a small price to pay for security. All they have to do is cooperate. I—"
Mòrag slapped him across the face, knocking him to the ground. He stayed there, stunned for a moment while she stood over him, breathing heavy as she tried to calm herself.
"How dare you?" she asked. "We're supposed to be better than this. We're supposed to be putting the empire behind us. Now you want to go down the same road as her? I won't allow it."
"We don't have the luxury of keeping our hands clean," Niall said, pulling himself to his feet and rubbing at his cheek. It felt… Strange. The physical pain didn't hurt nearly so much as the fact that she was no longer standing behind him. "If we don't do this, we lose everything. We can talk about the proper way to integrate the Leftherian Archipelago into the Coalition after the war is over."
"No. We won't."
"Listen," Reez said. "This is all very compelling. But every second we wait, the Praetorians are getting their feet under them. Delay us much longer and we'll lose our advantage."
"You seem to think I intend to move. I do not. This operation stops now. By my authority as director of the Restoration Department, I have declared Leftheria a Zone of Restorative Interest."
"You can't just do that," Reez said. "Not without the assent of Leftheria's local authorities. And in case you haven't noticed, there aren't any."
"Not true," Rex said, stepping forward. "I came to the Summit of Nations as Leftheria's representative. According to the Coalition, I'm qualified enough to grant that authority, and I agree with Mòrag. This place needs the Restoration Department's help. Not a war."
"And there you have it," Mòrag said. "By the terms of the Elysian Treaty, I have the authority to arrest anyone interfering with the conduct of the Restoration Department. So unless you want to see the inside of a cell, I suggest you take your men and leave, General Reez."
"She can't do that," Reez said. Then he glanced down at Niall. "Can she?"
"It's a clever sleight of hand," Niall said, shrugging. "But no. Rex doesn't have any official authority. He may have been present at the summit, but he abdicated his responsibilities when the Praetorians challenged him."
"That's not how I see it," Mòrag said. "Would you rather let the courts decide? Because I'd be more than happy to bring everyone here in until they can sort this out. Perhaps they'll get to it sometime next year."
"What are you going to do, arrest the whole army?" Niall asked. "I don't think so. Like it or not, this is out of your hands. Much as I would have wanted otherwise, once upon a time." He shook his head and turned his back to her. "Start the assault, General. She won't raise a hand against her own countrymen." He started walking back to the camp. "If you want to have a civil discussion about things, Mòrag, I'd be more than happy to."
"There's not going to be a conversation," Mòrag said. There was an emotion in her voice he hadn't heard in a long time. Sadness. "Because you're not going back to that camp. Niall Ardanach, you have engaged in a military action in violation of a non-Coalition nation's sovereignty, and by doing so have obstructed the conduct of the Restoration Department. By the terms of the Elysian Treaty, I hereby place you under arrest."
Niall stopped, staring out at the soldiers in front of him. A whole field of Ardainian soldiers watching their emperor get arrested by his own Special Inquisitor. He expected them to stand up for him, but instead, they trembled in place, caught between loyalty to their ruler and loyalty to the Coalition. Mòrag had chosen her stage carefully, it would seem, because with the Aegis Driver by her side, there wasn't a soldier in the Coalition that would be willing to stand against her.
But he couldn't let it end here. Even if she thought she was doing the right thing, Mòrag was about to secure Mor Ardain's defeat.
Then he saw someone move through the crowd. A soldier in full garb accompanied by a heavily armored rott. For a moment, the soldier looked right at him, and Niall knew instantly who it really was. Walraig, back to finish the job. It would have been poetic, in a twisted way. But the man quickly looked past him. At Mòrag. Walraig wasn't here to kill him. He was here to kill his sister.
"Well Mòrag," Niall said, turning around. "It's a shame it has to be this way."
He stepped aside, giving Walraig a clear shot. He loved Mòrag, but he loved his country more. And he refused to let it die by Spessia's hand.
As she stepped forward to arrest him, a blast of light tore through the crowd of soldiers and burned a hole clean through her torso. Instantly she grabbed Niall by the arm, dragging him to the ground behind her before she let herself collapse. Even as she lay dying, she was still trying to protect him. Something he'd be eternally grateful for.
Brighid and Rex dove into the crowd, chasing after Walraig, while Reez and the rest of Mòrag's entourage formed a perimeter, keeping Niall and Mòrag safe. She lay on the ground, staring up at him, and he grabbed her hand. Her stare was so devoid of any kind of emotion. She was in pain, and he knew she wasn't the type to let her pain show.
She knew what he'd just done. There was no way she didn't.
As Aegaeon and two other Blades rushed forward, throwing out ether in an attempt to seal her wound shut, Niall tried to stand up. He had a job to do, and Mòrag had been the only thing standing in his way. But as he tried, something stopped him. He looked down and realized he was still holding her hand in a vice grip. He wasn't sure if she'd grabbed his or if he'd grabbed hers, but he couldn't seem to let go.
It was Mòrag. It was his sister. The one person he swore he'd look after before anything and anyone else. The one person in the world he cared about more than life itself. The one person he could rely on to support him when he was struggling and to tell him off when he went astray. And she'd just finished telling him, and he hadn't listened.
But even if she was right, even if this is exactly what their mother would have done, it was still the only thing left that he could do. The only way to keep his people safe.
"Aegaeon," he said. "Look after her."
"You stay put," Aegaeon said. "You're still under arrest."
"I have a job to do."
"No, you don't." Aegaeon put a hand on Niall's shoulder, and a blast of ice ether shot out of it, trapping him against the ground.
"Let me go," Niall said. Aegaegon didn't reply. "That's an order, Aegaeon."
"You aren't my Driver anymore."
"But I am still your emperor. Now let me go."
"If this is what Ardainian loyalty is worth, Emperor Niall, then the whole country can burn for all I care."
Idiot. He didn't seem to understand the magnitude of the situation either. Which meant he'd need to rely on someone else. The soldiers? Would any of them set him free? Unlikely. If they were going to do something, they would have done it by now. Any of Mòrag's men? Most of them were reformed criminals or otherwise disloyal to the crown. But his eyes settled on Newt. She seemed conflicted, at least. Fidgeting in place, looking between Niall and the fight occurring in the midst of the soldiers. She could be persuaded.
"Newt—"
He tried to get her attention, but a large blast of ether drowned him out. He glanced over to see a tornado of flame spiraling into the sky, trying to swallow Walraig whole. He was in the sky, kept aloft by jets of light, just barely staying out of Brighid's range. An explosion of ice ruptured next to him, however, sending him flying back toward the other Blades. Right toward Reez.
He swung, axe cleaving through Walraig's shoulder and driving him into the ground. Reez planted a foot on the man's head, trying to pull the axe out and deliver a finishing blow, but before he could, a blast of light struck him from behind. A shield just barely blocked the strike, but it still had enough force to knock him to the ground, leaving him exposed. As Walraig sprang up, swinging a ring for Reez's head, the air in front of him shimmered.
Nal appeared in front of him, one gun already drawn. She pressed it against his forehead, and he stopped.
"Howdy," she said, a faint grin on her face. A blast of light struck her, but that wasn't her. Only an illusion. It shimmered, and she reappeared behind him, gun still pressed to his head.
"Tell Corinne—" was all he managed to get out before she pulled the trigger.
Niall had seen people die before. He'd watched his uncle's head explode during his coronation. But it hadn't gotten any easier to witness, even if this man had been trying to kill him for the better part of a decade. He brought his one free hand up to his mouth, trying to keep himself from throwing up.
Before he could properly digest what had happened, however, Nal walked over to him and pressed a gun against his forehead.
"I told ya' to keep yer head about ya'," she said. "I didn't think ya'd be this quick to lose it."
"Put the gun down," Aegaeon said, still working on Mòrag. It was a miracle she'd survived this long. "He's in our custody."
"No can do. I'm tired of lettin' bastards like him walk free."
"I have a job to do, Ms. Nal," Niall said. "Let me go, and I promise I'll keep Mor Ardain safe."
"I've got a job to do too," she said.
Well… That was that, then. He closed his eyes and waited. He hadn't expected to go out this soon, but he knew he wouldn't live to a ripe old age. He had too many enemies, and he seemed incapable of making friends. Maybe it was a kind of justice that the same person who took Walraig's life would also take his.
As Nal pulled the trigger, however, something pushed him aside. Violently. He opened his eyes to see Mòrag looming over him, an ice-encased fist clutched around the barrel of the gun. Her other hand was trying to draw her sword, though she was having trouble getting her fingers around the handle.
"Leave," she said, glaring up at Nal.
"He let you get shot," Nal said. "You do realize that, right?"
"Leave!" Mòrag screamed, trying to push herself up. Aegaeon grabbed her and held her back before she could hurt herself anymore.
"Fine," Nal said. "It's your funeral. I've got better places to be anyway."
She disappeared again, and Mòrag collapsed. Her breathing was ragged, and she wasn't moving.
"Mòrag, I…" Niall wanted to say something, but he didn't know what. "I didn't—"
"Don't," she said. "Just… Don't."
"Alright." He felt relieved, almost, that she probably hated him now. Not enough to let him die, but enough. It was probably what he deserved.
He thought about asking Newt for help again, but the look of conflict in her eyes was gone. She stood firm, now, gaze fixed on the mass of soldiers. He wouldn't get any help from her. At least not without her Driver to order her assistance, and Robalt was back in the capital. Which meant he was well and truly out of options.
"Mòrag," Reez said, struggling to his feet. "I'll call a medic."
"You do that," she said.
"Alright!" he shouted, turning on the crowd. "Pack it up, we're heading back!"
"Sir!" one of the commanders shouted. "What about the operation?"
"That's the Restoration Department's job now." He gave Mòrag a curt nod and began limping off, waving the soldiers back toward the camp. As he passed Brighid, they exchanged a very quick word. They were too far away for Niall to hear, though.
"What now?" Brighid asked, walking up to the line.
"We stick to the plan," Mòrag said. "Meet up with Mikhail and hope he's made some progress. Try to open negotiations."
"You have a hole in your stomach," Aegaeon said. "I think we should take care of that first."
"I'll live." Mòrag pushed herself up, and Aegaeon and Brighid helped her to her feet. She straightened up a little to address the rest of her squad. "Jac, Yachick, you two escort Niall back to the camp and keep an eye on him. Herald, I want you to fly the perimeter, make sure there are no more surprises. Perun, take Ardent Squad and head for the Spirit Crucible. There might still be fighting over there, and we need to put a stop to it as quickly as possible."
"I guess I'm heading for Fonsett, then," Rex said. "Gotta make sure everyone back home's doing alright."
"I wouldn't advise it," Niall said. "This place is going to be a war zone, pretty soon."
"What are you talking about?" Rex asked. "We just stopped the war, in case you hadn't noticed."
"You've done nothing of the sort," Niall said. "Walraig allied himself with Spessia, and he came here to kill you." He tapped Mòrag on the chest. "Not me. You. Which means he knew you'd be here."
"I don't follow," Mòrag said.
"Think!" Niall insisted. "If Walraig knew you'd be here, then it stands to reason he would know you'd be here to stop me. And we know he's been working for Spessia since his escape. I can't imagine his friends will be too far behind, now that the Coalition military has sounded the retreat."
Mòrag paused. Finally, at least something he'd said had gotten through to her.
"Fuck," Rex muttered. Then he glanced in the direction of his home. "Corinne. The village."
Without another word, he took off running, his Blade following quickly behind.
"Perun," Mòrag said. "Follow him. Make sure the village is safe."
"Sir," Perun said, saluting. She and her Blades took off running. Almost as soon as she left, the ground began shaking.
"Bastards," Brighid muttered. "Starting up the artillery again?"
"No," Niall said. "General Reez has his principles. If he's decided to back off, he'll see that through. This is something else."
"It came from the direction of the abbey," one of the Drivers said. "Something's happening over there."
"Let's go find out what," Mòrag said. Then she took Aegaeon's sword and sliced Niall's ice restraints, freeing him. For a moment, he thought he was free, but it didn't last. Almost immediately, a Gormotti Driver and his Blade had him in cuffs.
"Good luck," Niall said, glancing back at his sister. But if she heard him, she didn't acknowledge it. Silently, she and her team left for the abbey.
As the Driver led him away, he watched Mòrag limp on. He wanted to shout at her. Call her an idiot. Tell her there was a way to do this that didn't result in her death. But he'd lost that right, after what he'd just done. So all he could was hope she succeeded where he'd failed. And he wanted her to succeed so badly. He wanted to believe in her vision of the future.
But he'd seen what the world was capable of. He didn't hold out hope for a better outcome. At least, at the end of it all, he'd have the meager satisfaction of knowing he had taken the correct path. Even if he'd needed to become everything he hated to do it.
