"honed blades cutting both ways"
They waited for her to wake.
The shadows of the Spine had long since grown to cover them. The mountains made for an early sunset; Ikharos had been relieved to find somewhere dry and desolate enough that he could rest without fear of locals stumbling on top of them. He left the board - and Zendolyn - in the middle of the glade and set up beneath a collapsed log to watch while he fixed up his Crow. He had no idea how long the spell would last; it wasn't an active incantation. It didn't draw strength from him beyond the initial casting. If anything it was like flicking a switch in another's brain. He didn't like how easy it was, for all its apparent benefits. The removal of agency... bothered him.
But it did benefit, so he wasn't of mind to complain - nor to share those misgivings lest it be taken as weakness.
"So," he said expectantly.
Angela knelt on the pine-littered earth before him, piling sticks for a fire. She hardly looked at him. "So?"
Ikharos narrowed his eyes. "We'll start with the who."
"You know my name."
"Is it your real one?"
"As real as any other. I have no surname, no clan name, nothing of the sort."
"The local custom is to name oneself after a parent, is it not?"
"It... is." Angela hesitated. "It's not mine, though."
"You're not local?"
"I am, just... not culturally. Alagaësia is my home. I was born here."
"Your parents?"
"The same as you."
Ikharos raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"They came from the World-That-Was."
"The world... that was?"
Angela nodded readily. "I know you come from somewhere behind the stars. They did as well."
"They were colonists?"
"I believe so."
"I see." Ikharos straightened. "I find that odd, though, because the Collapse was so very long ago. Almost five centuries by my reckoning. Even by the standards of the Golden Age, your parents doubtless lived half that."
"Five hundred years?" Angela echoed, puzzled.
"Yes. Did I miscalculate?"
"By a significant margin."
Ikharos frowned. Something twisted inside him - the beginnings of suspicion. "How long has this world been settled?"
"I don't..." Angela closed her eyes in concentration. "Near eight thousand years, give or take some centuries."
"Eight... thousand?"
She nodded.
"Swear it."
"Thornessa er ilumaro." (This is true.)
"... Fuck." Ikharos grimaced. That complicated things. If she was right then the anomaly distorted time as well as space. He couldn't imagine the sheer power necessary to weave it into place - let alone keep it stable. "Eight thousand. But... you do realize that only makes your claim more suspect?"
"I've been kicking a long time," Angela said somberly. "I hope to stay that way."
"How old are you?"
"It's rude to ask a woman's age-"
"Witch," Ikharos said warningly. "I want answers. I will have them."
Angela's mouth set in a thin line. "Six thousand or so. Before man or elf ever set foot back on these shores."
"Bullshit."
"Shall I swear it? Thornessa er ilumaro."
Ikharos stilled. "Are you Risen?"
Angela shook her head quickly. "No. I've only the one life."
"But you know what I am."
"I do."
"How?"
"Because I used to keep different company. Solembum's more agreeable," Angela glanced at the cat, who hardly seemed to be listening, "and far less dangerous to stick by."
"You're not being forthcoming," Ikharos observed. "Do they have a name?"
"... Balaur. To you it'll be Balaur. "
"But not to you?"
Angela shook her head. "No. He preferred a different name from me."
"And what is this 'Balaur'?"
She smiled joylessly. "The same you've been looking for since we met. The same you've accused Solembum of being."
Ikharos' gaze sharpened. His heart jumped. "So you've encountered an Ahamkara."
"More than encounter. I know him. Knew."
"He's dead?"
"Oh no!" Angela laughed. "You can't kill Balaur. He's as sly as a fox, as slippery as an eel. He'll not let the Dragon-Eater catch him."
"So where is he?"
"I don't know. I mean that honestly. I left him behind a long time ago. There's a fair chance he never even noticed."
"Are you marked?"
Angela blinked. "Marked?"
"Dragon-marked," Ikharos said quickly. When she continued to look at him cluelessly he showed her the back of his hand and pulled back the veil of Deepsight. His skin tingled at the touch of ghostly flames.
"Now that's ironic," Angela murmured. She glanced up at his eyes. "No. For better or worse I'm not bonded."
For the better, Solembum grunted. The werecat licked the back of his paw, refusing to even look at her. Angela smiled fondly.
"How did you come by his company?" Ikharos pressed.
"Balaur?" Angela shrugged. "Since I first felt my potential."
"You need to clarify."
"As you will. When the magic first came to me. I was young and wild and alone, and the world was a frightening place for a little girl freshly orphaned. Does that satisfy you?"
Ikharos ignored the heat in her voice. "And this dragon-"
"Ahamkara."
"They're one and the same."
"Not as far as Balaur is concerned."
"This Ahamkara. It stole you away?"
"Stole." Angela snorted. "Nothing so exciting. He offered a place by the fire, to tell me stories, to take me under his wing."
"Why?"
"Because he wanted to see my dreams? You know what they're like."
Ikharos tensed. "Is he responsible for your, ah, longevity?"
Angela paused. "As much as any one person can be blamed, I suppose."
"Why did you seek me out? After I left you all behind?"
"As I said, you're interesting. And," she gestured stiffly in Zendolyn's direction, "I've no love for that."
"Do they hunt you?"
"Hm? Oh, no. But I try not to catch their attention."
Wise, he thought, but something still didn't sit right. "You're six thousand years old."
"Eh, a little older-"
"But this world has been inhabited for eight. Your parents were mortal colonists."
"Last thaw of the batch," Angela said ruefully. "Lucky enough to see a new sky."
"What do you mean by that?"
"As far as I know it, everyone died. You've come to the same conclusion, haven't you?"
Ikharos made no reaction. "I want to know what deprived the descendants of the Exodus vessel of their technology, their medicine, their society and culture."
"There's culture here."
"Nothing like home."
"I don't know. I don't! Not as you're hoping, and I know you won't like-"
"What do you know?" Ikharos questioned. "I need everything."
Angela hesitated. "I know the grey folk were involved, Balaur, then... them." She pointed at Zendolyn again. "But I don't know how or why or even who. My mother passed before I was old enough to ask those questions."
"What about your father? Other mother?"
"Father. I think. I don't know. It was just three of us, then two, then just me. I don't even remember their faces. It was so long ago. I tried asking Balaur, but he was evasive."
"So he was involved." A hint of movement caught his attention momentarily.
"Maybe? We can't know for sure."
"And these... grey folk? What are they?"
"Something other than human. They helped contain magic in a language at the cost of their lives. I was privy to little beyond that." Angela breathed in deeply. "I've been honest with you. I don't often do that. I hope you'll return the favour."
Ikharos raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Why are you here?"
"To hunt." Ikharos stood, set the Crow aside, stepped around her and crouched down before Zendolyn's limp form. "For creatures like this. Yes, you. I know you can hear me."
Zendolyn's orange eye flicked open and immediately settled on him. She stirred - briefly pausing to tug ineffectively at her Stasis-encrusted chains - and propped herself up. Her tail coiled behind her; Ikharos was glad for the foresight to have weighed it down with crystal enough to stagger her speed. Her muscles tensed, and when it seemed like she would lunge for him she collapsed with a muted snarl for having put weight on her broken leg.
Ikharos pulled the Valkyrie over his shoulder. At the sight of it Zendolyn flashed her translucent teeth at him. Her pharyngeal jaws gnashed at the back of her toothy beak. "Craven," she hissed. "Soft-flesh. Serpent-feed. Carrion-in-skin."
"You should be careful what you say. I've defeated you," Ikharos said softly, "twice. This time you're at my mercy."
"Execute it."
"You want to die?"
Zendolyn-Far raised her head proudly, baring her throat. "If you were worth the air you breathe you would have done so already."
"If I were true," he mused. "So you believe It? In the Witness and all It stands for?"
She said nothing, regarding him with silent loathing. Her chains crinkled.
"Fine. We'll start with the stick." Ikharos pulled the trigger. The disruptor field enveloped her; Zendolyn shrieked and writhed like a fish out of water. He didn't hold it for long. "Shelbth. Where are they projecting from?"
Zendolyn gasped. "Unsocket your bones-"
Another burst, as brief as it was agonizing. "Where?"
"Nowhere! Everywhere!" She cackled; the sound of it was like glass shattering, bones breaking, blades sharpening. "Within. Shelbth strikes from within."
A conscious cognitohazard. Ikharos suppressed the urge to shiver. Hadn't Elisabeth warned him of the sort? If ever there was a parasite he abhorred above all others, it was that. "You infected me with a brain bug?"
"No... you did so... yourself." Even under strain Zendolyn made a point to sneer at him.
"Slytha."
She dropped and didn't get back up. Ikharos re-secured her to the sled.
"What... what are you doing?" Angela queried.
"Moving on."
"But... the fire."
Ikharos shot an irritated glance over his shoulder. "You can choose to remain here or you can come with. I'm not waiting around."
Angela groaned and kicked the pile of sticks over, muttering curses in languages beyond him. Solembum raised his furred head and said, You drive a hard pace, human.
Perhaps, but he'd wasted enough time. Ikharos was eager to be among those he understood - and the few he cherished. There was a gulf that needed filling in his heart, and it was so, so close. "Crow," he called. The drone hopped along and he reached down, allowing it to climb and perch upon his shoulder.
"North, master," it whispered. "North. We're almost there."
They walked through the night and half of the next day in almost complete silence. On a whim of sympathy Ikharos allowed for a rest; Angela all but collapsed, hardly stopping to retrieve a blanket from her bag. "Watch her," Ikharos instructed Solembum, pointing to the still-unconscious Zendolyn.
The werecat looked at him blankly. And if she awakes?
"I don't know, yowl. Call me back."
Where are you going?
"To fetch the carrot."
He returned hours later, when eve was upon them, and found Zendolyn still weakly sprawled over the sled but nonetheless aware. Solembum sat in front of her seemingly without a care in the world.
"You didn't yowl," Ikharos remarked. "Or did I miss it?"
Solembum looked at him lazily. You choose.
He scowled, then turned to Zendolyn and held up a brace of hares. "Bloody or seared?"
She weakly levered herself up. "What are you trying to say, craven?"
"I thought you might be hungry, but if that's not the case-"
Her tail flashed around. Ikharos pulled back, spared only by the slowing effects of Stasis, but she still managed to spear two of the hares through. Zendolyn retracted it and tugged them free with her claws. Ikharos tossed the last to Solembum and crouched down, watching with keen interest as Zendolyn took up one, neatly opened its belly and drew out the offal. She used her tail-blade to remove the head, leaving the bones and the meat. There was little waiting after that. Her tongue struck out, tasting it, then she shoved it into her beak. Fangs sliced through gristle and gore with hardly any resistance. She didn't pause to chew either; her inner jaws, utterly bereft of molars, tore chunks loose and swallowed them whole. A consummate predator in and out.
"What are you?" Ikharos idly asked.
Zendolyn turned to him, her lips pulling back over bloodied teeth in a mocking smile. "You think you can flatter me with morsels?"
"Yes."
"You are misguided."
"I'd rather think of myself as honest." Ikharos pulled the Valkyrie loose. "You talk, you'll be fed. You don't..."
"If I don't you will subject me to the machine's pain-toy, yes, I gathered." Zendolyn tilted her head in an owl-like fashion. "I know this tact. It is pointless."
"You think?"
"I hunt, you hunt." She glanced at Angela's slumbering frame. "And our prey overlap. One dies. You or I. This is the way of things. You've strayed the sacred path."
"So that's what you are? A naturalist?"
Zendolyn-Far's smile faded. "I am Eimin-Tin," she hissed, "and thus your better in every physical aspect. I am perfect."
"Perfection's clearly overrated," Ikharos quipped, though he hardly paid the rest of her words much attention. Eimin-Tin, Eimin-Tin, Eimin-Tin... it sounded familiar. He'd heard it before, a lifetime and several hundred lightyears away. Read it on secondhand texts. Seen its handiwork on detritus washed up on the Shore. "I think I have one of your masks. Four eyes, round head? Couldn't be for you-"
"A Devil Day mask." She made a sound like a tiger's chuff. "Good. It suits you, prey-thing."
Clearly she intended it as an insult, though Ikharos was nonetheless pleased for the confirmation. He was onto something. "Why are you here? To hunt Nezarec?"
Zendolyn-Far paused. "The Nightmare is dead," she said, as idly as one would describe the weather. She started undressing the second hare.
"Then who captured the colony ship?"
"Captured? It always belonged to him." She chuckled. "You take his aid, slaughter his spawn, but you don't even know what he is, do you?"
"The Warmind."
She cackled. "Warmind! He's something else now. Something beyond your control; he is mindless Irifn free of his binds at last."
Ikharos watched and waited as she finished the hares. Not even the bones were spared, though curiously she set their heads tidily down beside her. Once she'd finished he asked, "What do you mean?"
"I think not. If you want to know him, creature, you will have to find out for yourself. He will consume you, rip you apart and stitch you together over and over-"
"Slytha."
Zendolyn collapsed.
"She's fond of her own voice," Angela murmured.
Ikharos half-turned to find her sitting up in her bedroll. "Could you make sense of any of that?"
"Some."
"Elaborate."
Angela winced and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "You know, you could say please."
"Witch."
"Herbalist. Let's use the proper terminology."
Ikharos looked at her blankly.
Angela grumbled. "Fine. She was talking about Scipio."
"The Warmind."
"I... don't know what that means. You're referring to the Archentrope? You slew his Partisans in the urgal village."
"Archentrope," Ikharos slowly repeated. "Partisans. These aren't ExSec terms."
"Exsecrati."
"I'm sorry?"
"They call themselves the Exsecrati."
Ikharos frowned. "You've heard them say this?"
"In a manner of speaking."
"So they know you exist? Why haven't they killed you yet?"
Angela shrugged. "I imagine it's to do with Balaur's favour. He's... important to them."
"The Warmind values the Ahamkara..." Ikharos grimaced. "So they have desires after all. But this word - Archentrope?"
"It's how they refer to him," Angela explained. She groaned and reached for her bag. "How much farther do you intend to hike?"
"Until I find my people." Ikharos clicked his tongue and the Crow fluttered to his arm. "A few days of hard marching, that's all. Provided they haven't relocated in the meantime."
"Do you know where they are?"
"No. Better that way."
"They must be important."
"Mhm." Ikharos glanced down at Solembum, who was in the midst of tearing the last hare apart. "What about you?"
What about me, human? Solembum didn't so much as turn his head.
"What do you know?"
Many things, but none of them you'd been keen to hear.
"So why are you here?"
Because it interests me. Because I am werecat and no borders apply to us. Solembum pulled a strip of glistening meat free from the hare's carcass. Because I am bored.
Ikharos looked to Angela. She shrugged. "I go where he goes, he goes where I go. It's a simple arrangement."
"I see." He kicked the rabbit heads away and double-checked Zendolyn's bindings. "Get ready. We're moving in five."
It took ten minutes, not five, and Angela complained the entire time. Ikharos bemoaned the loss of solitude; there were some people in the universe he was just not meant to mesh with. Either Angela or Solembum had to be doing something at all times - talking, humming, tapping claws against stones or exposed roots, anything to make noise. It was as if they were at war with the very idea of silence. It played hell on his nerves. Ikharos knew his next dream would be of her, and he was terrified that the moment he settled down to meditate either Shelbth or his own torments would seek his company, but the waking world was only so much more tolerable.
He was growing tired. That had to be it. Bone-tired, aching for a mattress and tea and a scalding shower, for the comfort of Ghost and ship. Ikharos subsisted on scraps of matter as they marched, if only to stave off the ache of an empty stomach. Food... was a tease. He'd grown beyond that need, but the human animal inside begged to differ. It wanted to eat, to sleep, to talk things out, all those mortal pitfalls.
"Are you alright?" Angela questioned worriedly, glancing back at him.
Ikharos broke out of his fugue and realized he'd begun to lag behind. He strained to drag the sled faster. The terrain wasn't helping. "'M fine," he muttered.
"Because if you want to ask something else..."
"Yes." He took in a deep breath. "The Ahamkara. The blue one-"
"The dragon?" Angela tilted her head. "That wasn't an Ahamkara."
"So you've inferred. But I could feel it. It has the same power."
"Some."
"Yes, some."
Angela sighed. "I don't know for sure-"
"No, of course not."
She threw him an irritated look. "I know there's a tangential relationship, but they were always... distinct from one another. Balaur favoured them, but he seldom made time for them. He considered them lesser than himself."
"But they are Ahamkara."
"Are elves the same as humans?"
"That depends."
"On?"
"I need more data to be sure. But elves are neohumans."
Angela waggled a finger. "Aha, so they aren't the exact same."
Ikharos was unimpressed. "So? A leopard and a lion are worlds apart but they'll still eat a man if they get a chance."
"A lynx won't. Not a grown man in any case."
"So you're telling me that these lesser dragons aren't as dangerous as Ahamkara?"
"They don't grant wishes," Angela explained. "They don't know how. Their own magic is beyond them."
"That's... incredibly reckless."
"How so?"
"The power of a dragon is potent. Whether they use it or not is irrelevant; the possibility is still there. How do they feed themselves?"
"With meat."
Ikharos paused. "And what is man made of?"
Angela dramatically groaned and rolled her eyes. "They don't prey on humans. We taste bad."
"That's... it?"
"Well, I suppose they see us as people too-"
"A dragon who considers mortals with respect," Ikharos mused. "Next you'll tell me pigs have wings."
Angela smiled impishly. "Would you believe me-"
"There aren't."
"Of course not. You're fun."
"You think I'm... fun?"
"Not intentionally."
"Oh, good. Glad to hear it." Ikharos set his mouth in a thin line. "I don't think we'll be stopping tonight."
Angela's smile fell. "If you want to run us ragged-"
"I don't care what you do. I didn't ask for you to come with."
"I thought you'd be glad for the company."
"Your company leaves me sorely wanting."
Angela regarded him distantly, then shrugged. "As you see fit."
"If you stop to rest, I'm leaving you behind."
"Eh, we can catch up." She winked and walked ahead. Solembum padded after her, throwing Ikharos a dour felid look.
True to his word, when Angela and Solembum settled down Ikharos marched through the night, stopping only when Zendolyn-Far roused and then only to feed her with fresh game. He wasn't sure of an Eimin-Tin's dietary needs, though he imagined her to be an obligate carnivore from a convergent Earth-like ecosystem. Whether the morsels he offered her were enough to see her through was equally uncertain; she said little when she woke, caught in a sullen mood, and twice she tried to snag him with her claws. Ikharos was left nursing an ugly gouge in his side when he put her back under.
By morning he was struggling to drag the sled over a particularly steep ridge. Angela and Solembum leisurely strolled out from the treeline behind him; Ikharos stolidly ignored them, despite the burning urge to demand how. Pride forbade it. They watched him struggle over the incline - Angela with that look of beaming amusement, Solembum with vague disinterest. Ikharos pulled the sled over and all but collapsed against a tree, scraping his hand over the layers of dead bark to absorb, consume, Devour.
Then he looked up and beheld the valley.
It was a fjord, as wide as the basin in which the Last City rested and many times longer. He glimpsed the small distant clump of a primitive city set against the bay's eastern shore. The west coast followed the tail end of the Spine, disappearing far into the horizon.
"What do you call this place?" he hoarsely asked.
"The Bay of Fundor," Angela said. She took up position beside them. "Or Fundor's Trench. Fundor's Grave. Fundor's... puddle. It belongs to Fundor in any case."
"Who's Fundor?"
"A dragon long-dead." She caught his expression and quickly amended, "Not an Ahamkara."
Ikharos hmphed. He pointed towards the city. "And that must be Ceunon?"
"Indeed. A trade city much like Teirm."
"How many port cities does the Empire have?"
"With Teirm in ruins, only Ceunon, Kuasta and Aroughs remain." Angela's tone turned solemn. "You fear an attack?"
"The Scorn don't need to breathe. If they don't move by sky, then the seas are perfect to mask their migrations. Every coastal settlement is at risk. Doubly so if I'm to stick around."
"The entrance to the bay is far from here. They'll have a ways to go."
Ikharos nodded slowly, mollified.
"What do you mean... if you stick around?" Angela queried.
He hardly glanced at her. "To their senses I'm loud. Bright. Something to be snuffed out. Being in my presence sets them into a frenzy."
"Why?"
"Because of what I am. And because..." He paused briefly. "Because I killed their father. Fathers."
Angela raised an eyebrow. "So you have history-"
"I do, but you'll not hear it from me." Ikharos looked the Crow over. It turned its head to look at him with one beady eye. "We've arrived. Go."
"Yes master." It leapt from his shoulder and took to the skies, rapidly flitting out of sight.
"So... what now?" Angela wondered.
Ikharos grunted. "Now we wait."
They eschewed a fire for the proximity of Ceunon. Ikharos wasn't keen on crossing more of the local kingsmen; he'd had his fill of bloodshed. A man needed some tea to mull his atrocities over. Angela and Solembum first tried to draw him into conversation, but failing that turned to each other. Ikharos was content to leave them to it, to let the world fall away and sink into a state of forced tranquillity. The suffocating coil of Nightmares tightened around him, closing in. He feared another episode was encroaching - another visit from a deceased friend or a slain villain. If it was the witch...
"You are small."
Ikharos did not open his eyes. Angela's voice fell silent. Solembum hissed softly. "Depends on the perspective," he whispered.
He heard Zendolyn-Far right herself up with some difficulty. "A rodent. An insect. That is what you are. A chittering Iiraca."
"Iiraca?"
"Do you wear their masks often? Do you honour them?"
With a sigh Ikharos opened his eyes and stood up. His knees ached terribly. "Honour who?"
Zendolyn-Far bared her teeth, smiling in a grisly manner. Her scales had lost some of their sheen and her Luster channels had dimmed considerably. She looked... faint. Not fragile, but she only bore a meagre resemblance to the monster that had almost killed him. That had almost taken his Ghost. Captivity was doing her no favours. "A dead people."
Ikharos regarded her coldly. "And what of the Eimin-Tin? Hm? I know I've seen your name somewhere. The World's Grave. The Hive found you. Killed enough to put a notch in their records."
Zendolyn lowered her head. In a human that might've indicated shame or humility, but Ikharos guessed the opposite for her. Carnivorous animals didn't expose their throats unless to appear non-threatening. "You know nothing of my people," she said dully. The fire had left her eyes.
Ikharos crouched in front of her, warily eyeing her talons. Even suppressed of her paracausal might she was more than well-equipped to eviscerate him. "The purpose of the World's Grave is to mark a passing - or, to the Hive, a milestone. They're gone, aren't they? Because the Witness doesn't suffer distractions for Its Disciples."
Zendolyn laughed harshly. "You think you know It?"
"I know enough," Ikharos shot back. "Your people followed the way of Lubrae. Of the Taishibethi and the Dakaua and the greater Ecumene, and all the myriad peoples of Fundament, and the thousand other worlds, peoples, lost to the march of the Black Fleet. I have to wonder... why? Most of them were in the way of the Hive, but Lubrae-" and at the mention of the world something Dark began to manifest within him "-fell to appease the First."
"Rhulk."
"He's dead. I killed him. I plunged a blade through his twisted heart. Why are the Eimin-Tin gone?"
"Because... because." Zendolyn looked at him. "Will you kill me too?"
Ikharos regarded her coldly. "Likely. But I'll work you over first. You have secrets. I'll pluck them out with or without your cooperation."
She hissed like a viper. "You think Shelbth will allow it?"
"Shelbth-" pain blossomed at his temples for a split-second, abating as quickly as it arrived. Ikharos took a deep breath. "Shelbth hasn't stopped me yet. Even when I had you dead to rights. Some loyalty, don't you think?"
"Loyalty. Loyalty!" Zendolyn chortled. Her binds crinkled loudly but she wasn't trying to break loose; she raised herself up on an elbow to keep the weight off her broken leg. "There's no loyalty here. Loyalty is mercy's misbegotten whelp. It offers nothing, only takes more, more, more. Loyalty, pah. Loyalty widowed me. Loyalty tore my children from my arms. Loyalty will see you hollowed out, human, a husk of power to be wielded for another's gain. The dream of loyalty died eons ago. Only purpose remains."
"Care to elaborate?"
"I offered you mercy. I offered you a kindness. You could have willingly carved His way out of this... this pit. You could have chosen death." She pointedly looked away from him. "You refused me. So now all I have to offer is my spite."
"What is it you would spare me?" Ikharos questioned. "What's worse than death?"
Zendolyn chuffed. "You'll see. Soon."
"It would be easier for the both of us if you were more forthcoming."
"Draw your knives, Iiraca. Do us both a favour and get it over with. Your prattling bores me."
Ikharos' jaw tightened. "Slytha."
Her eyes rolled back and she hit the ground.
Angela laughed weakly. "Well, that was... enlightening."
"Was it?" Ikharos looked at her sharply. "I'm left with more questions than answers."
Human. Solembum yawned and lazily padded over.
"What?"
Your false-bird. It's coming back.
Ikharos blinked and glanced up. The Crow swooped down, a scrap of metal clutched in its claws, and landed on his outstretched arm. "Left for you, master."
"What's it got?" Angela leaned over his shoulder to peak.
He took the metal piece and inspected it. A series of glyphs - a mix of Eliksni markings, the Ascendant Runic and various human letters had been scratched into it. Incomprehensible chaos to most, but Ikharos saw through the cipher quickly. He'd been the one to design it after all. "Directions. We're close. Come."
They marched east through the night and then most of the following day. The fjord disappeared behind them as woodland took over. It took them off the road and rivers, and thus unlikely to run into anymore locals - at least of the baseline human variety.
"We're approaching the borders of Du Weldenvarden," Angela told him. She'd grown quieter late into the hike as a result of lack of sleep. Despite her claims she wasn't anything close to superhuman. Not like he was. A part of him was relieved by that. "The elves leave these parts of the great forest for the humans, but they still keep watch."
"Will they be trouble?" Ikharos inquired. Formora had been fearsome enough; he wasn't keen on fighting yet more elves.
Angela shrugged tiredly. "Who knows? They're a capricious lot."
"So I've heard."
"That reminds me, I've been meaning to ask. Laerdhón. Is she-"
"Whatever you want? That's her business, not mine." Ikharos gave her a warning look. "I won't meddle in her affairs."
"The principles you adhere to are fascinating. You'll cross blades with her, but you won't betray her secrets?"
"I'm not here to entertain, witch."
"Yet I'm entertained regardless."
Ikharos grumbled and picked up the pace. Soon, very soon, they stumbled on an old game trail. Ikharos paused; something in the air flickered. A feeling of static played over his skin. He dropped the sled's ropes and held out his empty hands, eyes scanning his surroundings. "At ease," he said in Uluranth.
The faint red laser trained on his heart cut off. A slim figure stepped into the open, clad in ivory-and-verdant plate. A purple holographic cloak billowed from their shoulders and a single curved horn jutted on the right side of their helm.
"Optus Ellecta," Ikharos murmured.
The Flayer looked him over, then clapped a clenched fist to her cuirass. "Commander-interim," she greeted blankly.
Ikharos felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. A second Psion stepped out of cover somewhere behind them - Ellecta's partner. "Sire," Yu'uro warmly chirped. The pair of them expanded their minds - and Ikharos almost reached out in kind, withdrawing at the last moment. They stirred, put off, but he raised a hand to reassure them.
"It'd be safer if we didn't," he said.
Ellecta's gaze flitted over to Angela, Solembum, and finally to Zendolyn's limp form. "May I inquire, commander?"
"Locals with a vested interest in... at least relaying information on the enemy," Ikharos explained. Angela meekly waved. Solembum simply stared. "Grant them the dues of informants, thresh-grade. Understood?"
Ellecta bowed her head. "Lord."
"And this," he indicated to the sled, "is my prisoner. Do we have restraints fit to hold her?"
Ellecta and Yu'uro looked to each other. "Perhaps," the latter said, though he didn't sound certain. "Our equipment is lacking. During the ambush, the acting commander prioritized evacuating living soldiers over safeguarding Imperial supplies."
Ikharos frowned. "That doesn't sound like Vindica'aur."
"It... was not, lord. Your Ghost-entity leads."
"Xiān." His breath caught in his chest. "She's close? Indilic?"
"Yes lord." Ellecta motioned behind her. "Accompany us. They will be pleased to see you."
Pleased was an understatement.
The camp - a makeshift fort by his reckoning, walled in with packed earth and uprooted trees - lay deep into the forest but just beyond where the woods condensed, as if before some kind of ecological border. Du Weldenvarden proper, Ikharos had to assume. The home of the elves. The Legionaries on watch saw their approach and a shout went up. The entrance, barred with the hull of a Harvester, opened before them. A Gladiator stepped out, saw first Ellecta and saluted, then noticed Ikharos and froze on the spot.
"Lord," he rumbled, utterly at a loss.
"Yeah, it's me," Ikharos said drily. He took a deep breath. "Do we have entry?"
"... Aye. Aye lord. Commander." The Gladiator knelt reverently, planting his cleavers in the ground before him. "You fly in the eye of Acrius."
"Sure I do. Help me with this." Ikharos passed over the sled's reins. The Gladiator quickly took them up, sparing Zendolyn a curious look, then strained to follow them through. Beyond the Harvester's hold the camp was... a mess. All notions of Imperial cohesion had collapsed; all that remained was desperation. A pair of cooking fires were set to the side, before the row of Threshers, and the only other Harvester was nestled by their oil-banks. The Shadow Trespass stood on new docking stilts by the far wall. It looked... hideous, and it hadn't exactly been a looker to begin with. Someone had patched it up with whatever scrap was on standby and it damn well showed.
A couple dozen Cabal turned to look his way. Most were huddled under tarps or situated by the cooking pots, trading dice and weapon parts, while the rest saw to ship maintenance or guard duty. Each of them slowly rose to their feet, eyes wide. Ikharos motioned for the Gladiator to halt, then gestured to Zendolyn. "I have a prisoner," he called out. "A Disciple of the Witness."
No one said a word. Ikharos felt the barest flicker of psionics - of the metaconcert arrayed around the camp - and closed his thoughts off.
"I bring a weapon to reduce their powers to null," he continued, brandishing the Valkyrie. "Victory remains in our sights."
Ikharos!
The word, projected telepathically, smashed through his nullscape. Ikharos was helpless to stop, taken aback by the feelings it dredged up. No, he said quickly, cutting away the fledgling connection before it could cement into something dangerous. No, no, stop.
Indilic emerged from behind one of the oil tanks, wearing only half his armour. His cloak was torn, his gauntlets had been replaced with protective gloves and his head was bare. His Y-iris flashed with a myriad emotions - disbelief, relief, confusion. He began to hurry over, then remembered himself and slowed to a trot. Ikharos met him with a hand upon his shoulder; a human gesture, a Cabal one, but not necessarily a Psion one. Indilic returned it regardless.
"You live," he warbled quietly. His spiracles flexed as if to catch his scent. "I- We feared the worst."
"That I was dead?" Ikharos assumed a cocky half-smile. Indilic, true to his fashion, saw right through it.
"That you were stolen," he confessed. "Claimed by the enemy."
"Almost." Ikharos felt Indilic's consciousness press against his own curiously. So slight that it would be missed he shook his head. Indilic retracted his mind on the spot. "We have some catching up to do."
"Aye lord." Indilic straightened and pointedly looked around. The Cabal returned to whatever duties previously occupied them. "Who follows you?"
"These?" Ikharos glanced to Angela and Solembum. "Willing informants."
"Do you..."
"Trust them? Not completely, but they've done me no harm. Leave them a place by the fire; no one is to bother them. But I want someone watching them."
Indilic gazed past him. "And that?"
"Here." Ikharos passed the Valkyrie over. "This keeps her mortal. Lasts for... you well know."
Indilic regarded it strangely, then Ikharos. They both knew what it was capable of - as much a danger to him as any Dark sycophant. "How did you come by this?"
"I'll tell you later." By which he meant behind closed doors.
Indilic dipped his head. "Lord."
"Where's Vindica'aur? Did she make it out?"
"Yes, though her... injuries have proven debilitating."
Zendolyn's venom. "What's her state?"
"Conscious. Paralyzed. She scarcely has the strength to draw breath. We can communicate via mindlink. She is desperate to be free of her ailment."
"I'll see what I can do. Worst case scenario we can try synthesizing an antivenom." Ikharos looked to the Trespass. "I..."
Indilic stared. "You are lost."
Ikharos blinked. "What-"
"Go. Find yourself."
"... Thank you." Ikharos squeezed Indilic's shoulder and stepped around him. He staggered to the Trespass, all but fell against the boarding ramp and entered the hold. It was dark inside. He searched around for the lights-
A flash of scarlet blinded him. Before he knew it something hit him in the chest hard enough to throw him to the ground. It squirmed and shivered and pressed against his sternum, driving the very air from his lungs.
"You... bastard! Prick!" Her optic swung up towards his face. "You... YOU!"
"Xiān," he whispered. Trembling, Ikharos cupped her against him, dragging her up to rest beneath his chin. "My Xiān."
"You ever leave me like that again, I'll... I'll replace your ammo cells with confetti packs. Again."
"Xiān."
"You're the worst. The worst." She nestled against him with a dire urgency. Delicately, Ikharos pressed his lips against her uppermost fin, exulting in her warmth, her voice, her presence. His better half, returned to him. They stayed like that for a time, letting the words pass them by. Ikharos could have remained there for the rest of his endless life, but Xiān eventually, reluctantly, pulled away. "You're disgusting," she complained. "When's the last time you changed? Washed?"
"A while," he admitted. Ikharos levered himself up onto his elbows. "Do you mind-"
"Yeah yeah, take it to the shower." She impatiently ushered him up and down to the back of the Trespass. Ikharos disrobed (or rather shrugged off the ragged remains of his local garb) and slipped into the shower with a deep sigh of relief. The faucet opened piping hot, exactly how he preferred it. Ikharos liked to imagine the heat boiling the grime away.
"So," Xiān said idly. "What happened?"
"The elf." Ikharos closed his eyes and braced against the wall. "Scorn pinned me down. She got me out. What about you?"
"We took everyone and everything still in our grasp and we hightailed it out of there. Been moving camp since. I guess the crows found you?"
"One did. That was risky."
"I wasn't leaving your survival to chance." Xiān shook her shell. "Enough about me; I want to know how the hell you reached us."
"The elf had a boat. We used it to reach the mainland. I tried to leave you a souvenir, but..." Ikharos flexed his oaken fingers.
Xiān hummed. "I see. Did she do that?"
"Yeah."
"How?"
"Her magic. Her... dragonspeak. I don't know how it's possible, but the people here - some of them - can call on the Anthem Anatheme to do their bidding. This is the result."
Xiān floated over. Ikharos held his arm out of the spray for her to scan. "This is weird," she muttered. "Living plant tissue. It doesn't hurt?"
"No."
"I wonder..." Xiān's scanning beam ran down his arm, stopping at his elbow. Her fins twisted anxiously. "Uh..."
Ikharos straightened with alarm. "What is it?"
"I... I need to check something." She looked at him. "Did you talk with Indilic on your way in?"
"Yeah."
"Did you... talk talk or just... talk?"
"We talked. What are you inferring?"
"Nothing, just..." Xiān trailed off. "Can I bring him in?"
Ikharos nodded slowly. "That would be wise."
"Alright, you finish up here and..." Xiān paused. "No. No, screw that." She darted in to touch his cheek with a fin. She flew out, shook the water off her shell and pinned him with a searching look. "This is you. This can't be anything but you."
"What are you talking about?"
"Ike, there's... did something happen?"
"Did something happen?" he echoed. "Yeah, something happened. Lots of somethings happened."
"Like?"
"Like the Scorn following us across the ocean. Like Disciples and Exos hunting me through the wilderness. Like..." He closed his eyes. "There was a boy. A child. They killed him. Butchered him. His father just days prior."
"Ike-"
"And it just... kept getting worse. Kept escalating. Travellers on the roach. Villages. Then there was the city. They razed it to the fucking ground." His hands shook. He curled them into fists. It all came spilling out. There wasn't any stopping it. Xiān listened raptly, but Ikharos wasn't sure if it was for her benefit or his own. The tears, long held back, streamed down his cheeks. He talked and talked until his throat was raw and his voice cracked. "It's... it's been a real shitty time for me. It wasn't enough to end at that either; those fucking dragons..."
"So they are dragons?"
"Not... I don't know. Ahamkara-related, but not the original thing. That's how it's been explained to me."
"That elf. I remember she said one hatched for you. The one Agnisia took." Xiān's pinions began to twist nervously. "She said... there would be changes."
Ikharos looked at her sharply. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know, I..." Xiān scanned him again but this time from head to toe. "Something's different. You're different. It's like someone somehow hacked into you and rewrote your genetic makeup. I'm seeing new sequence elements, new cell growth, new... new everything."
A pit opened in his stomach. "Can you fix it?"
"What? No, Ike, this isn't just you - it's me too! Something..." She cut off and followed in a small voice, "Something somehow reached into your Light and changed your very nature. A paracausal splice. There's no seams, no scar tissue, nothing. It's a... a forced evolution, a correction of purpose. According to your Light, my Light, our shared Light? This is what you're meant to be, so now reality has to follow."
"... So we perform a factory reset." Ikharos stepped out of the stall and snatched up his boot, pulling his knife free. "I die, you rez me until it passes-"
"You aren't listening to me. Ike, I can't. I can't change this. It's well beyond even my ability." Xiān sighed. "When you die, I return you to the state you're supposed to be. You know how Light is; you have tattoos, you've grown your hair, the implants in your head, these things carry over because the Light allows it. It's weird, right? But it's how you're meant to be according to whatever rules the Traveler set. Now this? This is just like that, but if you die, you'll be waking up in a different body."
"So-"
"So the only thing a rez'll do will cut out the middleman. No slow change; you'll be there, at the end result in an instant." She motioned her fins in the approximation of a helpless shrug. "I'm sorry."
His eyes scrunched shut. "Just one more liberty to take with me. Of fucking course."
"Ike-"
"I heard. I... fuck. Fucking FUCK!" The air popped. The smell of Voidsmoke filled his nostrils. "It's a wish. They performed a fucking wish on me."
"Maybe... maybe it'll be like changing a shell."
"You get to choose your shells. I never asked for this. Never wanted it. Never..." Ikharos breathed in shakily. "All the shit I've done, all the sacrifices I've made and still everyone wants their piece of me."
Xiān nudged him. "It shouldn't mess with your head at least. I should bring Indilic in-"
"Do." Ikharos sobered. "I need his help."
"... There's something else, isn't there?"
"Why wouldn't there be. Just... get him, when his shift ends. It's next-to-urgent. A little cognitohazard caught my eye and it's bothering me. Think it might be alive- look, just get him."
Xiān tilted curiously. "You aren't speaking with him?"
Ikharos nodded numbly. "That's part of it."
"I'll pass it on. And - Ike. We can get through this. But... okay, look, I'm gonna warn you this once: don't you ever leave me like that again."
"It was never my intention."
"You know what I mean."
"I... do. I'm sorry."
"It's fine. We're here, we're alive. Somehow." Xiān shot him a lingering look, then transmatted away.
"Somehow," Ikharos echoed hollowly.
Armed with a steaming cup of tea and clad in a fresh biosuit, Ikharos patrolled the Trespass' interior. He tried taking a nap back in his own bed, but the lurking whispers of waiting Nightmares spooked him away. To compensate he checked up on the ship's systems, followed shortly by visiting his fixations. Each specimen appeared well-fed, no worse for wear since he'd last left them, and the quill-boa instinctively raised his head when he neared its terrarium. Ikharos opened the hatch and allowed it to slither up his arm, lathering across his shoulders. It moved its head against his cheek, flicking its tongue to taste his air. He idly ran a hand down its tufted back. All it wanted from him was to bask in his familiar heat; he was more than content to serve that purpose.
Ikharos returned to the primary hold before long. Waiting for him there was the Stranger.
"Hey," she said softly, leaning forward with her hands clasped around a silver flask.
He froze. "What the fuck do you think you're doing here?"
"Ike-"
"Where's your witch?"
"Far from here." She tilted her head. Her hood was pulled back. "I was worried I'd made a mistake."
"By turning to her?"
"By leaving you to your own devices. We all lost track of you. I wasn't sure you'd survived until Teirm."
"You were there?"
"I was... nearby." The Stranger grimaced. "That was never my intention-"
"The fault lies with her," Ikharos growled. "And you with her."
"I didn't know what was happening until I saw the Ketch. We had to keep moving. If you'd found us, you would've killed him."
"The dragon."
The Stranger nodded tiredly. "You don't trust this. You don't trust the idea of him. I know. I've gone through this conversation twice already; Ike, he's not what you think he is."
"He put a wish on me."
"Ike-"
"He put a fucking wish on me, Elisabeth. A wish."
"He didn't know."
"He didn't know?" Ikharos snorted. "He's a dragon."
"A dragon and just that. Not an Ahamkara."
"The difference hardly matters."
The Stranger sighed. "His name's Grimnir. He wants to meet you."
"The witch-"
"Has allowed me to tell him about you. He knows... enough to matter, I suppose. He knows you'll kill him if you find him, but he still wants to find you."
"Is that supposed to change my mind?" Ikharos staggered over and collapsed into his armchair. Everything hurt. Everything burned. "Why are you here?"
"I just..." The Stranger stood and looked down at him. "I was worried."
"About me."
"Is that so preposterous?"
"When you mask your intentions so well-"
"Ike."
Ikharos raised his chin. "What? You've not dealt fairly by me, always content to let me stumble into danger."
"It's not like that."
"No? Then explain Vroengard. Explain Shelbth. Explain this." He raised his hand, allowing Deepsight to reveal the dragonbrand. "I've been flying blind. You chose that for me when you had every chance to help."
"It was better that way."
"Better that I become a plaything to Disciples? To an errant Warmind?"
The Stranger's expression twisted. "Scipio isn't a Warmind. Not anymore. Remember that."
Ikharos narrowed his eyes. "So what is he?"
"All the worst parts of Rasputin packed away and sent to die between the stars - and that was before Nezarec's adherents found him."
"So he found god?"
"He found... the promise of one."
"Elisabeth. You're tiptoeing around me; what is he?"
She shook her head. "That's not why I'm here."
"No? What other reason could you have?"
"Maybe I just wanted to check on you," the Stranger snapped. "You're a bastard, Torstil."
Ikharos evenly met her glare. "You turned first. I have a warrant out for your arrest. My people will capture you by any means necessary."
"They won't."
"They'll try."
"Shut up. Look, I know you have Zendolyn. Just... do the right thing and talk with her."
"I've been trying to do that for days." Ikharos tilted his head. "Are you on her side too?"
The Stranger irritably flicked her poncho behind her. "One day you'll realise you can't control everything. I hope it won't destroy you. Whatever happens next - that's on you." Transmat took her, leaving the fading stink of radiolaria in her wake. Ikharos closed his eyes, exhaled deeply and leaned his head back, taking care not to squish the snake.
"How much did you hear?" he groaned.
"Enough." Xiān hesitantly flitted over. Her gaze fell to the dragonbrand. "Ike..."
"Don't."
"Fine." She glanced away. Indilic entered after her, staring at the place the Stranger had occupied.
"Your informant?" he commented. Ikharos nodded. "She masks herself well."
"You didn't feel anything?" Ikharos questioned.
Indilic paused. "There was no lie in her mind's eye."
"Plenty left unsaid."
"Did you expect otherwise?"
"I... I don't know." Ikharos lowered his gaze. "I shouldn't. She's nothing but an element of chaos. I imagine I'm just desperate for a shred of hope. Too fucking tired to bother stopping her"
"Something ails you."
"Someone."
Indilic's eye flickered - as close to a wavering smile as a Psion could manage. There was tension in his stance, but the feelings he radiated were soft, warm, a comfort. For his benefit of course; Ikharos was under no illusions that Indilic was just trying to keep him, and Shelbth within, in a controlled state. "As you say."
Ikharos nodded numbly. He set the snake down, allowing it free reign of the hold. "Let's just get this over with. Can you cut it out?"
"We shall see soon. Describe it to me."
"It takes the form of a Psion, but I've no idea if that means anything. A Scorn carried it. Infected me somewhat recently."
"How recent?"
"A couple of days."
"Guide me down this path."
Ikharos nodded and quickly recounted his journey, from the shores of Vroengard all the way to the encounter with the dragon by the pass through the Spine. Indilic asked few questions; he was ever a sharp study. Ikharos had the feeling he was being subjected to the same scrutiny as his words. When he finished Indilic motioned with a subtle flick of his wrist. "Open your mind."
Ikharos reluctantly dropped his mental blocks, fighting the age-old urge to keep them aloft. He felt naked without them. Idly, to calm his racing nerves, he sipped his tea and exulted in the warmth suffusing the ceramic. Indilic's touch came suddenly - where he expected a slow, cautious approach there was a quick injection, a needle of sharp intent spearing through his waking thoughts. Formless fingers, delicate, parsed through without really looking. Secrets opened up like the pages of a book but Indilic kindly glossed over them. He did not stray. His purpose was singlefold and he performed it with a mechanical efficiency.
"There is miasma," the Flayer murmured. "Nightmare. It's within you."
"The Leviathan did me no favours," Ikharos whispered.
Indilic carried on without another word. Ikharos knew the moment he'd found Shelbth because a sudden onset of intense pain burst at his temples. He collapsed with a dull cry. There was a flash of pain when the tea, still scalding, splashed over his leg. The rest splattered across the floor.
INTERLOPER, Shelbth sang. CREATURE OF FLESH. AN IDEAL YET UNSUNG.
Indilic froze.
YOU ARE SEEN. YOU ARE MISSED. YOU ARE INVITED. COME FLAY WITH M-
A flash of red, followed by wicked laughter, sliced across Ikharos' mind. Shelbth's voice cut off. With a whining sigh Indilic rocked back, hands flapping in the air. His eye bulged with psychokinetic energy.
"What happened?" Xiān demanded. She flew between them. "What the fuck just happened?"
Ikharos' locked muscles finally gave out and he collapsed back into his chair, gasping for breath.
"Ike-"
"You are a battlefield," Indilic gushed. The frantic words gushed out of him. "Oil and water but the oil is diffusing. The goblet of your mind is filled with ashes; new blood wets it. A god in theory, a god in dream, a god in all things past."
Ikharos heaved. His lungs burned for air. "What... do... you mean?"
"A thought-become-god, a God-Thought. A mind transcended this plane, to nestle solely within that shared by all. A plague of insatiable divinity."
"Your old deities?" he said quizzically. "But I thought they were myth."
The Flayer shivered. "No. And not mine, never mine. Mine is the solace of the legion, the Example of Acrius. These vice-spawn are conquerors of a different clade. They took the Y-goblet and they filled it with themselves. The honour we bore our ancestors became their envy. They enacted metaconcerts under duress." Indilic fidgeted. He cradled his head in his heads. "Gone, gone, gone, by effort of my forebears, by the steel of the legions. Why? This one lives, this one serves the end; it speaks, it praises? No, no no no-"
"Hey!" Xiān bopped him. Indilic blinked and looked at her. "Can you get it out?"
"No." Indilic stood. All the warmth had left him. He gazed past her to Ikharos. "Your torment spares you."
"The Nightmares." Ikharos sighed. "The witch saved me-"
"They preserve you because they are yours. Your pain, but yours nonetheless." Indilic looked away. "I must confer-"
"Wait." Ikharos lurched to his feet. Indilic shied away. "No, don't you fucking- If the Scorn have it, if they can spread it to me, then it stands to reason Shelbth could be in anyone and anything. Can you block it out?"
Indilic hesitated.
"What happens if Shelbth takes control?"
"You will be subsumed, digested, a new goblet of Its own making. All that you are shall become It; every thought shall lead to It's desire."
"But... the Nightmare's holding it back?" Xiān questioned. When Indilic nodded she turned around and said, "I'm locking away the Queensfoil."
Ikharos paled. "No."
"Until we can excise that bug-"
"You can't do that to me. They've already driven me to the brink!"
"Ike, it's literally the only thing keeping you you."
"You can't..." Ikharos trailed off. "Is there any other option?"
"No," Indilic said gravely. "The God-Thought does not stop until it has conquered all."
"How did your ancestors stop them?"
"By destroying their mortal shells."
Ikharos shivered. "Is there no less grave cure?"
"I do not know. I must confer with the concert."
"... Do what you must"
Indilic raised himself but lingered. "It would not do to share this with the War Beasts, aside from their Flayers."
"Another secret to keep amongst ourselves," Ikharos muttered. "You must think me careless. Or weak."
"I think you to be of particular worth to our enemies." The Psion paused. "The shortcomings of your telepathic potency are biological, not a personal failing."
Ikharos snorted. "I thought you had a reputation."
"For efficiency. The Empress bade me to serve you to the best of my abilities. I cannot fail. Not in this." He left with a final look. The sudden absence left Ikharos feeling at a loss - though it wasn't any different to their prior interactions. Short, to the point, meaningful.
Some small, petty part of him had hoped for more.
"What about me?"
Ikharos turned to Xiān. "What?"
"Ugh, nevermind." She tilted and hovered close. "How do you feel?"
"Like a dead man."
"So... nothing out of the ordinary?"
Ikharos closed his eyes. "Xiān."
"... I know."
"I can't sleep or I'll see her. I stay awake and the Nightmares come regardless. I can't die or I'll become something else."
"If we leave it to chance... well, it could be bad."
He turned to her. "What do you mean?"
"I mean if you go down in a bad sitch, I get you up, suddenly you're wearing new skin. Won't that be... I don't know, discombobulating?"
"That's a big word."
"Thanks, I came up with it myself."
Ikharos huffed. "It would be," he said with a grimace.
"So the smart thing to do would be to acclimate now."
"You're telling me to kill myself?"
"Yes. Preferably with a broken neck. Don't want to ruin the floor. Tea's one thing, but blood-"
"Damn you."
"Ike, it's the tactically intelligent approach. Sure, we've been hit, but we've always rolled with the punches before. Why stop now?"
"Because it's me. Autonomy is the right of humankind."
"So is life. So is freedom. The enemy doesn't care."
His fingers brushed over his gedwëy ignasia. "A dragon did this."
"What's the difference?"
Ikharos exhaled. "What's the difference indeed."
"Ike."
"Fine. Fucking fine."
"I don't like this anymore than you do."
"Still easier for you."
"Is it?" Her fins bristled. "I hate this for you. You know that."
"It just... never fucking lets up." Ikharos motioned to the door. "You should give them a heads up. If its a dramatic change..."
"Most of 'em won't notice," Xiān scoffed. "Uluranth Cabal won't in any case. Pretty damn sure they know you for the colour of your hair alone and that's not about to change."
"We'll see." Ikharos pulled his knife free.
"Traveler above, Ike..."
"I'll be quick." He placed the blade against his neck... and paused as an odd twinge of something like fear passed through him. Ikharos felt as if he were standing on the precipice of something. Something he couldn't come back from. To be forced by another into a new shape - this was the future he'd fought against for years, most of them unwitting but no less defiant. Once more he was surrendering himself to the pull of someone else's fate and once more he collared himself to alien whims.
"Fucking dragons."
The blade bit deep. The pain jolted through him but it was the animal in him, the petty semblance of someone else's mortality. Ikharos closed his grip on the handle and he shoved, driving the steel through his neck until it hit his spine-
And then... he was no more.
the thoughtlessness of death embraced him. all was murky. dark. shadows flitted in the void. yawning, screaming, bellowing into the emptiness.
a scythe stood, blade gleaming and haft stained with someone else's handprints. misused, mishandled, misappropriated. a relic fallen to those undeserving. a legacy broken. a dusk on a red day, each eye closed. lost.
He awoke to a world too bright, to words too loud, to feeling everything on his skin. Ikharos opened his eyes despite the blinding glare... and he heaved a deep breath, filling fresh lungs with the stale taste of filtered air. It was too much. Too much. Too much to compute, too much to feel. His sensorium blared warnings - changes in his blood chemistry, changes in his muscle density, changes in his ocular region and auditory sensitivity.
As if he didn't know that already.
Xiān said something. It was her voice - how could he ever forget it - but it was alarmed and urgent and too fucking loud. Ikharos braced his hands over his ears. His tapered, pointed ears. With a tremble, a full-bodied shiver that pressed his raw skin against every inch of biosuit, he touched around his altered biology. She was right. Formora was right. It was like entering her mind and seeing, hearing, feeling things from her perspective all over again but now it was him, just him, clad in his own ruined flesh.
Ears. Senses. What else?
"Mirror," Ikharos gasped.
Xiān projected a soft-light reflection of him. Ikharos staggered back into his seat; the man he looked at was not himself. He'd grown no taller but his morphology was markedly changed. His ears were the most prominent. His chin had narrowed, his eye sockets were angled ever so slightly, his face seemed sharper, and his hair lost the roughness of travel, now fine like silk. His body seemed, in a word, trimmed. He'd always been whipcord thin but something had changed. Ikharos peeled the biosuit down; his musculature, once a honed mess beholden to the strictures of human evolution, now appeared the work of something far more deliberate, like Exomind synthmuscle worked beneath a veneer of alabaster skin. Even the oaken prosthetic was gone, replaced with an entirely new hand.
He looked, for all intents and purposes, as an elf would. A bearded elf but an elf nonetheless. Beautifully, dangerously, impossibly inhuman. Fairer than any Awoken, more alien than any Exo, and as divorced from the very idea of baseline as nature would allow. The man that had first stumbled out of the grave was gone. Ikharos had buried him a long time ago, but to see it reflected in his physical form...
It terrified him. His heart beat impossibly fast, faster than it ever had before. He moved- no, he saw like an elf did, absorbing more of his surroundings quicker than before. For the first time in his life there was a delay between his own senses and the reaction time of his sensorium. He could comprehend the world before even his implants could. Cybernetics were normally so sensitive too; it was nothing short of a miracle nothing had torn up inside.
"Hell, Ike, you're..."
"This isn't me." He traced over his cheekbone. Even that minor motion was sensory overload.
"Maybe not." Xiān settled on his shoulder. "But it'll have to do."
Damn that dragon. Ikharos closed his eyes. Damn that dragon to hell.
AN: Biggest thanks to Nomad Blue for the editz, as always!
Trying to juggle three fics while moving, studying, and then battling it out with Into the Light and Final Shape for time has been hell, but I reckon I'm past the biggest hurdles so updates should* be faster. Final Shape has been incredible, the raid even moreso. Verity might be my favourite encounter to date. Still no way in hell I'm gonna get Iconoclast, because those encounters with challenge with all those champs? No thanks.
Anyways, finally getting into the meat of what I consider the Destiny-side of things. There's been enough Disciple exposure (with some more to come), so I think it's warranted that the Exos/Warmind soon get their turn. I feel I should warn that things will be graphic and heavy - which... really should extend to the entirety of this fic and most of my works, but the next couple of Ike-orientated chapters will be rough.
The direct follow-up to this, however, should be a Formora chapter and after that likely an Agnisia based one (of which I should really do more), and neither of them are going to be easy per se but I doubt they'll hit so hard. I will say this, trying to change how I write each character's POV is hard. It's a helluva switch to go from Ike's "every day is war and everywhere is a battlefield", Formora's "those damn humans", and Agnisia's "where the fuck am I/what the fuck is going is on?" and so on. Thank fuck the Hive are fun to play with.