“-Every voice will fade;


    Every quill will dry.


    Every song will end;


    Every tale will die.”


    — Excerpt from the Gigantes Song of Mourning.


    <hr>


    Desolation had taken the Twisted Forest.


    Nothing remained of the trees that once craned their branches to snag unwary travellers.


    A barren wasteland extended as far as the eye could see.


    The former slaves trudged into Procer. I’d healed their wounds, but the shadows in their posture remained. Their hunger would have to wait until later. One of them stopped, their yellow eyes locking onto mine.


    “Hero,” he said.


    “Taylor,” I corrected, offering my hand.


    “Darius,” he replied, shaking it.


    Faint white scars extended along the length of his arms.


    “You claim to have freed us,” he said. “This freedom, what does it mean?”


    “What you do from here is up to you,” I explained. “There are no slaves in Procer.”


    “Up to us,” he snorted. “You expect no service of us?”


    I could have tried appealing to my nature. I didn’t. The Tyrant’s former slaves had seen the worst that humanity had to offer. They’d be distrustful. They had every reason to. So I offered him something else, instead.


    “Do you think I need you to?” I inquired.


    He stared at me for a few moments before shaking his head.


    “No,” he murmured wistfully, “no, you don’t. What does this freedom mean for us?”


    “I know that freeing you doesn’t solve everything,” I replied. “That it doesn’t undo what happened. That some will never adapt. The House of Light will do what it can to help.”


    “That is all we could ask for,” he said with a slow nod. “Call, and we will come.”


    Warmth blossomed within me as Darius left. I exhaled softly, the tension in my shoulders easing, and a faint smile playing on my lips. One after the other, I watched as the former slaves departed from Arcadia.


    The next fight against the Tyrant would be harder. I didn’t delude myself about that. For one, we wouldn’t have the benefit of being in Arcadia. Even ignoring the looseness of the rules here… I could fight without fearing the damage I caused to my surroundings. The victory was soured by the fact that I couldn’t just teleport into the Tyrant’s bedroom and end his life.


    I’d tried.


    He’d likely wished for something to keep me away. Part of the web in my mind had darkened. Not all of it — I could still teleport most places — but I guessed Helike was out of bounds until after I’d dealt with him.


    I’d be hounding him as soon as I’d made certain the House of Light was in order. I didn’t know if Callow would be better off with the Calamities dead. Helike, however, would be better off without a Tyrant. All of Calernia would be.


    A loud pop shattered my reverie.


    Roland and Yvette stood beside a fire burning on an iron plate. The flickering flames cast shifting shadows on their faces. Yvette’s hair caught the light as she twisted a golden strand absently. I grimaced. Food cooked over magic always tasted like the dust in the church archives.


    I looked at the spear in my one hand, then at Yvette. Should I pass it to her to do something with? I didn’t need a spear. I had enough ways to kill someone without it. Besides, magic weapons had a habit of breaking on their wielders at inconvenient times. Should I give it to her to do something with? I bit my lower lip in consideration… No. No, I shouldn’t. I might not plan on using a spear, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t use something else.


    Something more symbolic.


    I ambled over to Pandora, opened one of the pouches on her flank, and withdrew the wooden dove. The spear’s tip slid into the base like it was made for it. The white banner I’d saved from earlier peace talks still held together. With a little work, it could make a proper truce flag.


    A yelp caught my attention.


    A black fox darted off Yvette’s lap and into the wasteland.


    “Where’d it come from?” I asked, placing the spear and swan down beside her.


    “Ugh, my dimensional pocket.” Yvette yowled like a wet cat. “Now I’ve got to fix it—at least my Name won’t mess with magic any more.”


    Her Name had transitioned during the conflict, although there hadn’t been an opportunity to talk about it at the time. The Bumbling Hierophant Bumbled no longer.


    “Don’t want a pet?” I asked with suppressed mirth.


    “Not a fox,” she protested with a vigorous shake of the head. “Definitely not. They stink. Besides, this one has already tracked mud all over my reagents.”


    “Speaking of reagents,” I commented, “Anyone know what happened to the Midnight Casket?”


    “Not sure,” Yvette muttered. “Think the fae picked it up.”


    “Not exactly reassuring,” I replied.


    Roland uncorked a bottle of wine and took a deep pull, his eyes glinting mischievously before he extended it to me with a flourish. I thought about it for a moment, then shook my head.


    “What happened to that promise of drinking with me once the dust settled?” Roland asked.


    “Thought better of it,” I muttered, brushing a strand of dark hair behind my ear.


    “I think it would be wise for you to consider once again,” Roland said.


    “Fine,” I sighed.


    I had told him that I would.


    I took the bottle and took a tentative sip.


    “That’s not wine,” I choked out, wiping my mouth and grimacing. “What did you ferment? Regret?”


    If I’d dissolved salt into vinegar to the point it started crystallizing and then drank the solution straight, the contents would’ve been less horrid.


    Roland and Yvette both burst into laughter. The traitors.


    “Ah, well,” he said between snorts, “it''s a taste that takes time to acquire.”


    “You mean that if you drink enough, you can’t taste anything at all?” I asked, arching an eyebrow.


    “I dare say there’s a touch of truth to that,” he chortled.


    “So,” I said, sitting down on a scarred boulder beside them. “Thoughts?”


    I passed the bottle back to Roland. He took it, sprinkled a heavy dose of whatever it was over the meat on the fire, then took another deep pull.


    “There are matters… we ought to discuss,” he said with a sigh.


    How should I handle this? I needed to be careful. The circumstances had been beyond what we’d expected. Some words had to be said, but… that was less important than reassuring people they’d done well. Because without a doubt they had.


    “I agree,” I said, pausing before adding, “But first, I want to acknowledge something. I’m proud of you both. There were ups and downs, sure, but we made it through some harrowing trials. Roland, you handled those negotiations better than anyone could''ve expected.”


    Roland smiled and dipped his head.


    “Yvette,” I said, voice softening, “You changed the past. You went further than I imagined possible. If you don’t wear that badge, I’ll pin it on you myself. I’m proud of you.”


    “You looked more scared than proud at the time,” she accused.


    “I’m allowed to be both,” I replied.


    Yvette’s dream faded away as I finished. Not broken, completed. I shoved aside the guilt that weighed on me and returned her brilliant smile.


    She shouldn’t have felt the need to earn that to begin with.


    “I’m proud of myself as well,” she admitted at long last with a grin, “finally.”


    I allowed a moment of quiet jubilation to pass before I pressed onward.


    “I owe you an apology, Roland,” I said, meeting his gaze. “How I treated you after the Spire wasn’t right.”


    “There is no bruising, Taylor,” Roland shrugged.


    “I also owe you an apology, Yvie,” I continued. “I asked you to do something knowing it was likely to fail. That wasn’t fair.”


    “Why apologize?” Yvette bristled. “You gave me the chance to prove I could do it!”


    And that’s exactly what I feared you’d think.


    “I shouldn’t have expected you to fail,” I said, shaking my head.


    “Alright, fine,” Yvette said, biting her lip. “But there’s something I need to say, too.”


    “Go ahead,” I urged.


    “Now that Constance’s Scar is resolved, I’ve been thinking,” she paused. “I want to travel.”


    Travel? My mind stalled. I hadn’t seen that coming. My first instinct was to say no, to tell her to stay safe in the Principate. I shoved it down. Yvette rarely asked for anything. This was the first time she’d shown interest in leaving or meeting new people. Saying no would break something I couldn’t fix.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    “Where?” I asked


    “The Titanomachy. I’ve studied the Titan’s scripts, but it’s not enough,” she complained. “I need to learn from the Gigantes since the Titans aren’t around any more.”


    Not Praes or the Kingdom of the Dead, at least. But the Titanomachy wasn’t much better. They had a nasty habit of killing Proceran heroes. I doubted they’d make an exception. Still, Yvette cared more about their magic than anything else.


    “Try Levant first,” I suggested. “It’s a good starting point.”


    “I knew that you’d wait-,” her mouth flapped like a fish for a few moments, “you’re not saying no?”


    “Offer to help out Cordelia in Levant,” I proposed. “Make a good impression there, then ask if they can introduce you down the line.”


    “That’s… actually a good idea,” she admitted grudgingly.


    And it will stop a diplomatic incident in the process.


    “Now, we need to talk about what went wrong in Arcadia,” I declared.


    Both of them stiffened.


    “It has to happen,” I insisted.


    “Very well,” Roland said. “Let us lay our demons to rest.”


    “So, Yvette,” I reproached her, “I understand you were upset during the negotiation between Sulia and Larat. But that was hardly the time to bring out cake.”


    “It wasn’t going anywhere anyway,” her cheeks coloured while she sputtered, “so why not indulge?”


    “It probably wasn’t,” I agreed, a wry smile tugging at my lips, “but it certainly wasn’t after you caked it.”


    “Fine,” she huffed and pouted. “I’ll admit, maybe I should’ve thought it through more. Perhaps I should’ve waited until after Sulia attacked first.”


    I inclined my head toward Roland. His eyes lit up.


    “Snide remarks about Kairos and the fae, while tempting, aren’t exactly prudent,” Roland added,


    “Come on!” Yvette exclaimed. “They deserved every word I said!”


    “Wit is a fine weapon,” the Rogue Sorcerer agreed, “but it’s sharpest when wielded with care.”


    She met his glare for a few moments before turning my way.


    “What do you think?” she grumbled.


    “I think,” I evaded, “you could consider your words with more care.”


    “Sure, next time I’ll get a signed approval form before back-talking the next monster,” she complained sarcastically.


    That wasn’t what we meant, but it wasn’t worth arguing. Now for the bigger issue. If I pushed too hard, it’d cause problems. How to phrase it?


    “I’d also like to ask you,” I said carefully, “to ask before you meddle with time in the future.”


    “So you’re not saying no outright?” an inquisition’s worth of suspicion bled from her voice.


    “I’m asking for oversight,” I clarified.


    I’d never win the argument.


    “Fine,” she acceded. “I’ll do it your way.”


    “Shall we delve into your conviction that stripping others of their capacity to feel Evil is the answer, then?” Roland challenged.


    “I did some thinking,” I admitted. “You were right-”


    I raised a hand and forestalled Roland from interrupting.


    “-the Taylor you met,” I continued, “wouldn’t have considered it. She was grieving, lost, displaced. That doesn’t make her wrong. Or right.”


    Roland narrowed his eyes and stiffened.


    “Your thoughts on the matter remain unchanged?” he said.


    “Undecided,” I murmured. “Still thinking.”


    “Hardly anyone would accept the loss of choice as easily as you seem to imply,” he asserted.


    “If someone commits murder,” I asked, “what would you do to them?”


    “They would meet their end at the edge of an executioner’s blade,” he replied.


    “Now, you’ve got two dead people,” I declared.


    “I fail to see where the issue lies,” Roland said, folding his arms.


    “In my solution,” I replied, “you have none.”


    “Not all deaths end with a corpse,” he countered.


    “You’re protecting the right to do awful things,” I challenged. “Ask every single one of those slaves if they’d rather live in this world, or in a world where people like Kairos can’t exist at all.”


    “And if the people must defend themselves from new tyrants,” Roland said, raising an eyebrow, “what then?”


    “If everyone’s touched by compassion,” I mused, “who would they need to defend against?”


    “So, you would suggest a different form of slavery, then?” the Rogue Sorcerer challenged.


    “People need to vote for it,” I argued. “It’s their decision that matters.”


    “They would be wrong to do so,” he asserted.


    There was some irony in that claim. He was presuming that he knew what choices other people should make for their own lives better than they did.


    “Why?” I asked. “And don’t tell me it’s because you feel that way. I want a real answer.”


    Roland hunched his shoulders.


    “Consider this,” I pressed, “I came from a society that valued freedom more than yours does.”


    “I fail to see how this is relevant to our discussion,” Roland protested.


    “I didn’t start thinking this way,” I reflected. “My mind changed over time. That should tell you something.”


    “Not all changes are for the better,” Roland replied.


    “I’m undecided,” I admitted. “I have no intention of doing this any time soon. You’ve got plenty of time to change my mind.”


    “You set out to do the impossible,” he asserted.


    “Yes,” I agreed


    “And how long will it be until you exchange dreams for pragmatism?” Roland inquired.


    “I trust you to warn me whenever you think I’m going too far in one direction,” I replied.


    “And who,” Roland muttered, “will temper your will when no equal holds your counsel?”


    “I listen to you,” I protested.


    “You do,” he sighed.


    The crack of a twig ended our discussion. I looked up, stiffening at the sight of mismatched eyes in the shadows.


    “Ah, Taylor,” he greeted, his voice smooth as silk. “I come to fulfil our little agreement. Or has the weight of it slipped your memory?”


    I glanced at my companions.


    “Coming?” I asked.


    “Proceed without us,” he gestured lazily while speaking, “some distance will cool the flames of this moment.”


    “Suit yourself,” I groused.


    Silence fell between us, heavy and deliberate. I swallowed hard. How many souls would he be handing over? A hundred? A thousand? More?


    I didn’t know. I didn’t want to guess.


    The air shifted as space warped around us. I both was and wasn’t surprised. more cooperative since the agreement than I’d expected. Not that I’d complain.


    I glanced away from Larat as we arrived outside a familiar stadium. Walls of blackest night, a roof of transparent ice and rows of plinths all around me from one side to the other. The basin in the centre of the room was empty. Crystal spheres sat atop cushions resting on every plinth, each containing a soul. I didn’t know if he’d spirited any away to keep them. There was no way for me to tell. Either way, I was closing a chapter on the first problem I’d sworn to fix.


    The angels’ silent presence steadied me. I ignored the scene, focusing on the task.


    Exhale.


    Dead. They’re all dead, Taylor.


    A light brighter than the sun erupted in the stadium, shattering every sphere. A single anguished wail echoed before a cemetery of silence reclaimed the space.


    I straightened. The souls were free, their torment ended. It was the right thing. The good thing.


    “Thank you,” I said. “Consider our deal upheld.”


    “Your words with your companions reached my ears,” Larat said. “Naturally, I found them most... illuminating.”


    I tensed once again.


    “What of it?” I challenged.


    “I felt compelled to share a thought of my own,” he continued, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Would you not agree that perspective is the prism of wisdom?”


    “Your perspective?” I inquired sceptically.


    “These shattered spheres of yours,” he mused, gesturing toward the glistening remnants.


    “Your point?” I pressed.


    “Tell me,” he leaned forward, “did you pause to ask their desires before you passed sentence?”


    “They couldn’t choose for themselves.” I said, folding my arms.


    “And yet,” Larat challenged, “what grants you the right to decide they were unfit to choose?”


    “It’s not real,” I protested. “Even if they saw what they wanted.”


    “Contentment, is it not?” he remarked, with a casual shrug. “They found joy within the stories they told themselves.”


    A sliver of unease wormed its way into my thoughts.


    “There is no point,” I argued.


    "Oh, I quite agree with your argument,” Larat conceded, his eyes lighting up. “But consider this: their lives are without pain, without harm. Could we not call it... perfect? An improvement on your own idea.”


    “This isn’t my idea,” I bit the words out.


    “Before you extinguish this one,” he said, producing a pristine sphere with a theatrical flourish, “why not engage in conversation? I spared it for your enlightenment.”


    I examined it.


    This snow globe looked like it contained a woman sitting at a bar. Inside, a woman in a red dress drunk to her heart''s content.


    “Why should I bother?” I demanded.


    “There is value,” he mocked, “in hearing a soul speak before judgement is meted out.”


    Fine, I’d entertain this travesty. The woman would likely want peace the moment she realized her predicament. I reached out as if towards a viper and seized it in my palm. The contents swirled between my fingers. It didn’t take much effort to project a part of me inside.


    The woman turned and looked at me.


    “Welcome, Taylor!” she exclaimed, raising a false tankard my way.


    A chill ran down my spine.


    “How do you know my name?” I inquired.


    “He told me to expect you,” her voice reverberated against illusory wooden walls.


    She… she knew she was dead. She had to. Why was she still here?


    “Do you want peace?” I asked softly.


    “No,” she denied, letting out a loud burp. “I’m happy here.”


    “None of this is real,” I explained.


    “Why does that matter if it makes me happy anyhow?” she took a sip and challenged.


    “You’re dead,” my voice rose, “and you’re fine with it?”


    “I don’t want this to end, Taylor,” she affirmed. “I’m happy where I am already.”


    “The Gods wouldn’t want for you to be here,” I protested.


    “So?” she raised a brown eyebrow. “What if I’m not set for the heavens? There’s no guarantee I’d end up anywhere better than here.”


    She trailed a drunken hand towards false merrymakers around her, winked salaciously at a scandalously dressed woman, and pinched an imaginary man on the rear.


    What could I even say to that?


    She wasn’t hurting anyone.


    I didn’t say anything.


    I swallowed and forced the sliver of me back out.


    Why had he allowed me to take their lives, then shown me this? What was the right thing to do? The Angels thought ending their sentence was correct. A part of me still thought that terminating their sentence was correct. Almost every person I spoke to would consider this unambiguously a case of good. But the person in the prison cell?... They thought the opposite.


    And that made me hesitate.


    Was I really like Larat? I wasn’t, was I? He’d taken their souls by force. Voting on being touched by compassion was not the same thing. Removing some options was different to replacing all options with an illusion.


    No, it didn’t matter if they were mind controlled to like it now. An influenced person couldn’t agree to anything because they were compromised. The act of imprisoning her like this was a violation and not comparable to what I was proposing at all. And yet… that didn’t give others the right to end their illusion without asking first, did it?


    “Why?” I growled.


    “All lessons worth learning are drenched in blood,” Larat quoted.


    I’d heard the phrase before. It was from one Praesi tyrant or another. I didn’t agree with it. My nails dug grooves into my palms. A large part of me urged me to lash out at Larat. To exact vengeance for what he’d done. Except… he hadn’t killed them.


    I had.


    I’d even asked to do it.


    “I won’t forgive you for this,” I said through gritted teeth.


    “Ah, but you will,” Larat laughed as he left. “Mark my words, Taylor. One day, you will.”


    I clutched the crystal ball to my chest as I mulled over his words.


    What was the right thing to do?