"So, the justice before us is what you stand for?"
The Ancient One took the boy's soul from Bulkathos's hand, gently placing it back into his battered body.
Bulkathos unhooked the potion from his waist, crouching his massive frame to pour the fiery liquor-like elixir into the child's mouth.
"Just can't stand those nauseating creatures."
Bulkathos's voice was resolute, his eyes fixed on the pitiful child.
With a series of violent coughs, the boy awoke.
But he only stared blankly at Bulkathos's stern face, silent, as if lost in thought.
"Child, can you forget what you saw?"
The Ancient One reached out, stroking the boy's head.
She knew his soul had witnessed everything—from death to revival.
He'd seen a battle more fantastical than myth.
Though no one would believe a child's wild tale, the Ancient One thought, or they'd assume he was crazed from the threat of death, inventing stories.
Still, a promise from the boy would be best.
...
Death returned to her palace, settling onto her throne.
Corpses and spirits filled her view.
This was her realm, where all departed souls arrived.
Death extended her right hand, now whole again.
For her, granting death was an act of love for life.
Death was a peculiar eternity—free from hunger, disease, or the fear of time's passage. Time held no sway in this land of the dead.
Only the dead could keep her company forever in this realm.
When Bulkathos unleashed his full might, she sensed a power exclusive to death.
Curious about its source, she knew she only bestowed such a force when consumed by overwhelming love.
Yet she recalled no such intense affection in her long existence.
"He should live! That brute should live forever! I never want to see him again!"
Death cursed from her throne, like a human wishing death on another.
For her, the best way to despise someone was to condemn them to eternal life.
Whether plagued by incurable wounds or relentless disease, death was the gentlest release.
But those she loathed would wail forever in the abyss of pain!
Looking at her new hand, she still felt the searing agony of the break.
"And that damned immortal mage! If not for her, I wouldn't have been hurt!"
Death mentally marked the Ancient One.
The untraceable deathly power she'd sensed was forgotten.
...
"Barbarian King..."
The Ancient One gazed at the subdued Bulkathos, hesitating to say his name.
"Just call me Bulkathos."
He watched the boy scampering around his forge, his mood heavy.
Not because of the child—in Sanctuary, he loved playing with lively kids.
His gloom stemmed from the boy's maturity.
That forced smile mirrored Leah's after losing Cain.
Hiding grief, choosing to smile through pain.
Having lost everything, clinging to the only one left to rely on.
Unlike Leah, who had Tyrael, this boy had no one.
His father, destined to be a nightmare to foes, was likely still reeling from loss.
But this child likely lacked the time or courage to draw near.
Bulkathos had seen such restrained grief too often—Leah after becoming the Great Demon's vessel, Cormac the same.
"I'll handle his identity, make him 'disappear' from others' sight. If you're willing to take him in."
The Ancient One spoke slowly, watching the boy struggle with a hammer, ears perked to their talk.
"Ancient One, drop the guardian act here. No one can save everything—I know that. But your approach feels like avoidance."
The Ancient One nodded, long aware of this truth.
Since wielding the Time Stone, she'd chosen stability, steering toward her desired outcomes.
She'd opted for "sacrifice," ignoring tragedies as a means to an end.
Now, she didn't have to. A great stone had stirred the river of time, its waters too muddy for anyone to see clearly.
"Bulkathos, so we're still friends?"
Unburdened, the Ancient One felt lighter, her usual calm broken by resurging emotions.
"As long as you don't call yourself a mage, yes."
Bulkathos cracked open the wine she'd brought, gulping it down.
"Honestly, your fighting style's more barbarian. Want to visit the Holy Mountain, see if the ancestors approve?"
His stern eyes met hers.
The boy, overhearing, seemed to spark with life.
"If you wish."
The Ancient One nodded, glancing thoughtfully at the child.
"If you have any unruly apprentices, send them to me."
Bulkathos grinned.
He saw a chance for barbarians to take root in this world.
Compared to ordinary folk, frail mages with some power stood a better chance of ancestral approval.
"Let them choose their own paths."
The Ancient One smiled, shaking her head, thinking of Cassius.
"Barbarian training is brutal! But it makes them strong!"
Bulkathos spoke to the eavesdropping boy, offering a goal—a reason to live.
He'd seen too much despair. Like Tyrael once did, Bulkathos wanted to give this world's hopeless a glimmer of hope.
(End of Chapter)