I am my greatest enemy, Merrin thought, heaving a breath as the final drizzle of Eastorian rain fell over his body.
Now, he remained afloat over the darkened waters of the Black Seas, lost in ponderings. So many they were, all swirling within his mind. The recollection of the previous battle, the fact that he had molded his soulForce into the mindForce. That gave the cuts the whitish hue, although he sensed that, unlike the mindForce, running out of soulForce would not result in something as mild as the loss of memories and thoughts.
He sighed. So what happens now? Eyes narrowed, zooming towards the far dark walls of Nightfell. Should I go back now? Ah, what a joke it would seem to Sibel. After all that—all that pointless declaration—only to come back with my tail between my legs.
He could almost laugh at the thought. Surely, she too would laugh. In fact, he could see the moment the entire Black Eyes stared at him, wondering about the conviction that existed in the Ashman. Perhaps there was none. What kind of man would live knowing he caused so much pain?
He drifted higher into the sky, the heavens ever booming with lightning. Up there, he could see the expanse of the waters, the things in the distance, the mountains, and the small dots of islands scattered in the sea. There were so many of them—things in the water.
He closed his eyes. I could always run away, he mumbled internally. But that, he sensed, would result in nothing useful. It was the seduction of it all. If he were ever to leave, he would somehow find himself back in their presence. He could not trust himself to do otherwise. He knew with great surety.
Thus, staying a moment within the blackened clouds below the sky of foaming darkness, Merrin shot through the sky, hurling himself into a mountain within Nightfell—one with a cave at the side of its form. Of course, there was no particular reason to do that. There was no choice, no made decision on what was to be done. No plans or words that could be presented by his own cognition. He needed something else. A different mouth to answer the questions that burned within.
What should he do now? Return? Exile... What exactly was there to do?
Merrin padded softly atop the hardened floors of the mountain cave—its mouth wide and round. Irregular, yes, spiraling in with rough walls and layered earth. Black, too, it was, as most stone in Nightfell tended to be. Maybe it was the corruptive nature of Symbols. After all, Nightfell had the greatest number of veilCounsel casters, meaning the Shadow symbols were heavily abundant in the place. Who knew the consequences of that?
His fingers trailed along the walls, head lowered, sneaking into the silent cavern. There was little in the way of light, not that he needed it. Even now, in this total darkness, the Ashman—or was it the veilCounsel?—could see expertly.
He found a highstone in a corner of an open space, settling into the rather boiling space. One that, despite the field of the Froststone, he could still feel the warmth through his skin. Feel the heat as sweat trickled down his brow.
"It's almost like home," he chuckled, head slapping back against the rough walls.
Then there was silence—the outside booms of thunder vanishing away from immediate awareness. There was nothing now—no thoughts, no desires, just a deep, cruel emptiness. What was he to do now?
Merrin closed his eyes, forcing a sense of drowsiness into his mind. Such was the power of the caster that soon, just a few minutes after, the world blurred across his vision. The rock, the stone, even the darkness faded into nothing, replaced by the sweet quietude of a sleeping mind.
Then it awoke!
Snapping into awareness, Merrin stood now in the center of the throne room. The space with that curved, high-placed seat—the vast emptiness with large pillars and the shadows of Ardents, ever present in the corners. He could sense them all. A knowing of the entire world—of everything that existed with him in this mighty space.
It seems he is still dreaming, he realized, taking a glance at the room and the new dress that had been clothed onto his form. A unique wear to say the least—one crafted from the observed style of the Orvalen and the brightCrowns. Odd that those two had quite a number of similarities. The white hair being one.
He shook off the notion, sauntering through the room—no exact point was present in his mind. What exactly did he come here to do? The Dreaming was almost certainly complete, at least for what he required of it. Doing anything else could be redirected as a pending task. And as for rebuilding Enavro, or Este, within the Dreaming, he still lacked force and true comprehension to achieve something of that type.
There was simply nothing to do.
"I want to talk to you," he said, listening as the wind rustled around his surroundings.
Then out of nowhere came the flying bird, its wings like obsidian metal plates. Circling, it did, high in the room's ceiling, rounding the pillars and firing from one side to another. Finally, it cawed—more of a laughter than the sound of a true bird.
"What exactly does the El'shadie wish to talk about with a simple bird? Some, I sense, in your world would look at that and call it the actions of a madman."
More jokes. That was the thing it ever chose. Jokes. But Merrin could care little for those. He said, "I was attacked by a Fallen."
"Yes..." The bird perched atop his shoulders. "I saw."
"You all did?"
"You can answer that yourself."
Merrin sighed, roaming the throne room. To anyone else, he was but a pathless creature walking in circles. A life of endless repetitions. He said, "He showed me things."
"Those I did not see."
"I thought you saw everything?"
"When have those words been uttered by me?" The bird pecked at his cheeks. "Do not offer such bootless lies. They are distasteful."
"Distasteful," he repeated. He stopped and stared up at the vast roof. "I suppose you know of what is happening?"
"You mean the obvious blackmail between you and the Black Eyes."
"What's blackmail?"
"Nothing to ponder." The bird cawed, rustling its feathers. "So, tell me, El'shadie of the Common Era, what exactly do you need me for?"
"The thing," Merrin said, way more weakly than he expected.
The bird seemed to sigh. "How can I deal with human affairs? Or perhaps you wish to destroy them using the Ardents?"
"Ah." His shoulders lowered. "The last time I used the Ardents against someone, they managed entry into the Grayworld."
"And you were quick to wear a mask," the bird chimed. "But seriously, this exchange of meaningless words does not offer anything to me. It is boring, annoying, and I would rather watch that man fawn over his mother than listen to this."
Merrin paused. "Man?"
"Rapture," it replied. "He remains in your... Dreaming. He and his sister. Mother, too, although his mother is just a figment of his own desire. I suppose creating something like that is a testament to your growth as a caster."
Merrin rubbed his fingers.
The bird continued. "Finding a way to connect the Grayworld, the beads, to your Dream Castle—fusing the functions into one thing. A place where one can dream, and the beads would somewhat alter and become what the dreamer wishes. All, of course, being fed by your force."
"I couldn't make them offer theirs."
"You could," the bird said. "You simply choose not to, just like how you choose to drown yourself in these feelings."
There it is... Merrin closed his eyes. These were the topics that he desired.
"No response," the creature chimed. "I'm sure this is the need that prompted your presence here today."
"There were other things."
"Yes..." the bird whispered. "But you came here to talk about your feelings." There was mockery in those words.
Merrin frowned. "What would you have me do?"
It took off from his shoulders, flapping, hovering right before him. "Control yourself," it said. "For some reason, you live in this false world of sunshine and rainbows."
"Rainbows?"
"But there is none of that," the bird continued. "Your life, as every other El'shadie has once lived, is one of countless deaths. Friends, family—one or the other was sure to end. It's what people do: they die. Sometimes, as you humans would prefer, they would die for some cause, for some reason other than nothing. Which, truthfully, changes nothing from the final outcome. Death is death. It comes for everyone, regardless." It paused. "Regardless of your actions, your destiny, death always comes."
Merrin fumed now. "How can you say that?" he spat. "You saw it all. You saw how my actions caused that—"
"Consider this," the bird said. "What do you propose would be the life of those... slaves if you hadn't come to the mines?"
Merrin froze.
"Let me answer it for you." The bird seemed to grin. "Death. Death would have been the sure outcome. Be it from the lack of food, or some bootless war between the mine leaders, or even running out of force for their Froststones. Something would have killed them."
"So what?" Merrin had knitted brows. "This is better? It's better they died for me?"
"Perfect!" the bird chimed. "Why not accept the Godhead that's already been presented to you? I know you want to—you always have. I mean, a man who truly hates something does not run back to it. But you do—always. Call it the play of the martyr, the calling of godhood; you enjoy it. You enjoy being the cause of these things."
"Ah." Merrin scoffed. "You don't know anything, do you?"
"I know enough to know the multi-faced lie." It flapped its wings. "The lie about self is often too deep to uncover... at least for you humans. And you, El'shadie, fall in that category. What pain is there in accepting the thing you enjoy? What pain is there in knowing one's true self?"