Iskareth’s eyes snapped open, and he reflexively took in a sharp breath, which was followed closely by an even sharper anguish throughout his whole body. Every nerve was on fire, from his burnt and disfigured skin, to doubtless scores of internal injuries. He could barely move, hardly make a sound, and was certain that without his new body, he would have been reduced to ash.

  But he was alive.

  A half-choked laugh croaked from his inhuman lips, bringing with it fresh pangs of pain—wonderful glorious pain. He laughed again, spitting up sickly black blood with each convulsion, and the rubble around him shifted, falling away and opening up the sky.

  To his shock, the spirit tree was still alive, and in fact it seemed healthier than it had been before. Something must have gone wrong.

  Wyn. The answer came to him in a moment. The boy with the purifying flame. Somehow, it could even burn God’s essence. “Well done,” he whispered, though it wasn’t like Wyn would hear him. It was a shame he hadn’t completely broken, but Iskareth wouldn’t begrudge him whatever small comfort this reprieve would bring.

  As for everything else… Such a failure was a setback for the church, and their success was necessary for his own plans, but now? Iskareth could wait. After so long, finally a success. Even if none of his notes had survived, even if he couldn’t find Zavi again, he finally had proof that it was possible. For the first time in so many years, hope burned like a roaring flame in his chest.

  Clutching that flame, he dragged himself out of the rubble, inching forward with the one arm he had left. It was agonizing, and it took monumental concentration not to lose consciousness again. But his body was strong, and dozens of shikigami butterflies swarmed him like ants to a crumb, trading precious life mana in exchange for his blood. Yes, he would survive this.

  Why didn’t I kill her?

  As he crawled, the question thrummed in his head. If he’d only killed Sadirah, he could have avoided all of this. The relic bound to her soul could have been extracted, and he could have studied its effects at his leisure. It had all gone wrong because of her.

  His children were dead, his laboratories destroyed, and the only surviving test subject was lost. So why? She was his daughter, yes, but still, he should have done it. The cost of one life, for the good of his desires…

  So why didn’t I kill her?

  “My my, what a sorry state you’re in.” A smooth voice sounded from just in front of him, and he craned his neck upwards.

  A young man with snow-white hair stood before him in a white coat. He was handsome in a soft sort of way, with striking mismatched eyes—one green and one a strange inhuman gold.

  Before apotheosis, Iskareth hadn’t been able to see mana without the use of a lens. His new body, however, had no such limitations. Small tendrils on his shoulders licked at the air, tasting it and letting him sense the mana around him. So he could tell the stranger was not without strength. And to his luck, it seemed he was life-aspected.

  “Ah,” he said, relieved. “Please sir, pardon my appearance. I assure you I mean no harm and am human just the same as you. My injuries are grave, and I need immediate treatment. Would you be so willing as to assist me?”

  The man knelt, his mismatched gaze piercing. “All living creatures are driven by one of two things: desire, or fear. A desire for companionship, or a fear of solitude. A desire for power, or a fear of weakness. A desire to live, or a fear of death. Though they might appear the same on the surface, these things are in fact polar opposites. And yet, so often we humans mistake the two. It was a noble dream you had, Iskareth. But that fear of yours twisted it, and consumed you. You became nothing more than a monster.”

  Abruptly, the butterflies grouped around Iskareth pulled away, gathering on the man’s body and absorbing into his skin.

  Iskareth felt true fear sink deep in. The fear of what hides in the dark when the light of a candle is snuffed out. The fear of the unknown. “Who—who are you? How do you know my name?”

  “Oh?” the man smiled. “You don’t know? I thought you off all people might. Well, I guess it doesn’t matter now does it?”

  Under no illusion about his own safety, Iskareth bluffed, trying to think of a way out of the situation. “I don’t know who you are, but I’m a sage candidate in the church of the old god! If you kill me, there will be consequences!”

  “I’m aware of your organization. Though, I find myself quite opposed to your actions. This world is cursed, but not by the spirits, or the cycle of life and death. The arrogation of man is a disease, a sickness from which nothing good can arise. Those in power take and take, fulfilling their own selfish desires at the expense of those they deem lesser. The world you seek will be no different.”

  “What do you know of the world I seek?” Iskareth spat.

  Slowly, the man reached out and placed his hand on Iskareth’s shoulder. A trickle of aura, relieving and nurturing—life aura—made its way in through his skin. Even as he smiled gently, the man’s eyes were colder than the deepest winter’s night.

  “Consider a tree,” he said softly. “It begins a tender sapling, reaching ever for the sun as it grows taller and taller. It may be any mundane tree in the forest, or even a staggering giant, like the one above us now. It may live for but a moment, or it may live longer than any human. But without fail, eventually, that tree will wither and die. It is inevitable. But when the tree dies, its nutrients return to the soil, enriching the land, and someday, where it once stood, a new sapling will sprout.”

  Iskareth could feel himself getting stronger as the life mana trickled in. Just a little longer now… “What are you getting at? Am I supposed to be the tree?”

  “Perhaps. But perhaps not. I don't claim to know the future. But you see, just as life invariably leads to death, death is in turn the catalyst for new life. They are cyclical—one in the same—and one cannot exist without the other.”

  The mana inside Iskareth suddenly twisted in on itself, blackening, growing thick with rot.

  This is— he desperately reached for the man’s arm as the death aura began to tear him apart from the inside out, but the strength left his fingers. There was very little pain, only the dimming of his vision, and an encroaching chill as he lost feeling in his limbs.

  “No…” his voice was breathless, a faint whisper. He couldn’t die! Not after he’d come so far. Not when his goal was finally in sight!

  “Farewell, Iskareth. May your death nourish the life to come.”

  But there was nothing left in him at all, and there was nothing he could do. At the very end, his final thoughts were of a young girl’s smiling face, and he was glad, if nothing else, that she had survived.

  Live well… my daughter.

  The final sparks of life flickered out, and Iskareth’s body rotted away.

  ***

  Rhaelza waited to approach until the body had fully disintegrated, and the stench of death mana had cleared from the air, replaced by a lightly floral scent as a patch of flowers sprung up amidst the cracks in the stone.

  “Well?” The boss asked without looking over. “Were you successful?”

  “Have I ever failed before?”

  He smiled, tilting his head her way as she held out the dim lamp.

  “It wasn’t in the sanctum like you said,” she continued. “I had to kill the girl that had bound it.”

  “Yes, I felt it as well. I’m sorry Rhaelza. I know that must have been hard on you.”

  Heat crept onto her cheeks and she looked away, though she knew it was futile. The boss had always had a way of seeing through her, no matter how she tried to hide. The truth was, it had been harder than most kills. Something about the look on the girl’s face made her feel like she was looking into an old mirror—or rather, a different path she could have taken herself.

  “I have to ask though, why did you insist I left the other two? Even if you can only use one yourself, we could find a use for them, couldn’t we?”

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  The boss shook his head. “The wheel is limited in the improper hands, perhaps even a handicap. And the mirror is far too cruel.” He took the lantern from her hand, looking it over appreciatively. “It’s ironic… an endless supply of aura perfectly attuned to its wielder seems unbelievable, and yet that’s only a side effect of its true function, which has no use for most. The spirits lack any perspective at all. Don’t you find that beautiful?”

  “Not particularly,” Rhaelza chuckled.

  He smiled. “I suppose you wouldn’t. But Rhaelza, are you really going to make me ask?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she looked away coyly.

  “You have a child draped over your shoulder.”

  “Oh, right, right. I almost forgot about him.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “This boy seemed close to the girl I killed, and there’s something strange about him, see?” To demonstrate, Rhaelza severed a finger from his unconscious body. He didn’t so much as twitch, and within moments, it began to grow back, until soon there wasn’t so much as a scar. Certain rare techniques could be capable of such a thing, but it was evident that something else was happening here.

  The boss just nodded, as though he’d expected exactly such a thing. It was a little disappointing, as she’d hoped to get a bigger reaction.

  “I thought you might be interested in him,” she said, dropping him onto the ground. He was still out, held unconscious by the threads she’d put into his neck, but it was time for him to wake up. With a thought, the threads loosened, and the boy woke.

  ***

  As the darkness faded, Zavi’s mind was hazy, and he struggled to remember where he was, or what was happening. Looking around, he saw the shattered streets of the city, though he didn’t understand what had happened to cause it. A short distance away, a great rift had been cut in the ground. And then he saw the woman, her amethyst eyes piercing as she seemed to stare straight into him.

  All at once, the memories came rushing back, and fear and rage in equal measure flooded his mind. Still, he tried to lurch away, desperate to get away, but he could hardly move, bound by strange threads. He could only thrash helplessly, tears springing into his eyes.

  “Peace, Zavier.” A man’s voice spoke calmly. “We are not here to harm you.”

  He didn’t believe it at first, still trying to get away, but as the futility of his actions became clear, he eventually gave up, and looked towards the voice. A soft face greeted him, one which matched the warmth in his voice.

  “How—how do you know my name?”

  “I know many things. I know who you are, and I also know what happened to you. You have my sincerest condolences for the loss of your siblings, and your sister.”

  Zavier’s eyes widened, and his body shook harder. They were gone, all of them. How could that be? The threads loosened around him, giving him enough room to move. He cast a glance at the woman with wine-dark hair, but her own face gave nothing away. Free to move, he slowly sat up, all the desire to run or fight drained out of him.

  “Sadirah…” he whispered, looking downwards as it all crashed over him. Sadirah had killed them, all of them. “Why did you—why? Why why why?” He clutched at his head, closing his eyes tightly, and he felt the foreign wings on his back fold inwards and wrap around him.

  It isn’t real, he thought. It’s just a nightmare, I’m going to wake up, and everything will be fine.

  But even as he told himself that, the events replayed over and over in his head. He saw his siblings turning to ash. He saw the silvery needle piercing Sadirah’s throat. It was too much for him to handle. Blood spattered on the ground. His siblings screamed in pain. Father was—

  “Don’t close your eyes, Zavier.” A firm hand grabbed onto his shoulder, anchoring him in reality. “The darkness behind them is where those monsters lurk. Right now, what you must do is face this new world, and make a decision.”

  Zavier shook his head, his breathing still ragged. If he opened his eyes, it would be real. It had to be a dream. It had to be. “I don’t—I can’t—”

  “Open your eyes.”

  His jaw trembled, and his fingers dug into his head, trying to claw the memories out, but they were stuck. Slowly, he opened his eyes again, taking shuddering breaths as he pulled his hands down and hugged himself.

  “That’s better,” the strange man said. “Tell me Zavier, do you hate your sister for what she did?”

  How does he know? Zavi’s teeth grit as he hugged himself even tighter. After she’d killed the rest, a part of him hadn’t wanted anything to do with her. But now that she was gone, the hole in his chest had grown even larger. He didn’t want to think about this. He wanted to go back. Someone, please…

  “Zavier.”

  The answer was dragged out of him.

  “Yes. No… I don’t know.”

  “I understand,” the man said softly, moving his hand to Zavi’s chest. “Do you want to die?”

  Zavi froze his eyes staring at the offered hand, in which gathered something black and sickening. A familiar sensation crept up his spine—the certainty of death. The finely honed senses in his new body, and its instincts all screamed danger, and he recoiled, wings flaring slightly as he shrank back.

  “I can grant you death,” the boss promised. “If that is your desire.”

  “I—I don’t—”

  “You have lived your entire life expecting to die. You prepared yourself for it. Accepted it. But now, you have a chance to live. So tell me Zavi, do you want the pain to go away?”

  Beneath them, the flowers swayed gently in the wind. The enormity of the situation fell onto his shoulders. He hadn’t had time to consider it before, but for the first time since as far back as he could remember, an axe wouldn’t be hanging over his head. He could feel the strength in his body, and he’d heard Father’s words, even in his rage. The withering was gone, or at least changed.

  When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.

  “I want to live.”

  The man lowered his hand, and the chill faded. “Good.” He smiled. “Then it’s time for you to make your next choice. What you do from here is up to you.”

  Zavi sat, unmoving, as the unspoken question sank heavy into his chest. He was suddenly unmoored, and he couldn’t begin to process the maelstrom of contradicting emotions he felt. After spending years practically bedridden, now everything he knew was gone, and everyone. There was nothing at all left for him. Maybe Wyn? No, it was too painful. He wanted to throw it all away. Liresil, his past, everything. But even more than that…

  “I just want to know why.”

  Why had Father done what he did? Why had Sadirah? Why was the world the way it was? Why had he been made to suffer his whole life? And why, of all of them, was he the only one left alive? It should have been someone else. What was the point of it all? There had to be a reason.

  Throughout all of this, the stranger’s eyes never left him, waiting patiently for an outcome Zavi didn’t understand. But finally, he reached out once more.

  “Take my hand, Zavier. Lend me your strength, and I swear, I will help you find the answers you seek. I will show you the truth of this world, and with your power, I will fix it. You can help me create a new world, one where a tragedy like yours won’t ever happen again.”

  For a long time, Zavi said nothing. He stared at the hand, wondering what it meant to accept it. He looked at the woman beside them. “She’s with you, isn’t she?”

  “She is.”

  “I hate her,” Zavi felt something dark bubbling up, feelings he’d never held before. “I want her dead.”

  The man didn’t even flinch. “If that is your wish, I will help you gain the strength to see it through.”

  Zavi’s eyes widened in shock. How could he so callously agree to that? Even more shocking though was the woman’s reaction. Instead of betrayal, or surprise, she just smiled, as though deeply satisfied.

  Adrift in a dark sea, unsure of anything, Zavi reached out towards the light—towards the man's waiting hand.

  “What do I call you?”

  The man smiled. “Boss will suffice.”

  “Ooh, how exciting!” The woman giggled. “It’s been so long since we’ve gotten a new member. My name is Rhaelza.”

  Zavi glared at her, though she didn’t seem to mind, so he tried to ignore her instead. “So, what now?”

  “A prudent question.” The boss looked towards the blue sky above. “I’m not Sezim, and I don’t have Haoma to aid me, so it will be a while before I can fully assimilate the lantern. We won’t make any big moves until then, at least. But I think it’s about time…”

  “Really?” Rhaelza’s tone was fervent. “We’re finally getting everyone back together?”

  Without answering, the boss began to walk along the road, heading away from the center of the city. “Let’s get going. We’ve just stolen one of the most valuable artifacts on the continent, and I don’t want to stick around the scene of the crime.”

  As they walked off, Zavi stood, hesitating one last time. He could still turn around, he knew that. He was certain that if he did, they would let him live. But as he looked behind himself, all he saw were ruins, and the great rift in the earth. And he found that scared him far more than whatever might lay ahead.

  Without fanfare, completely unnoticed, the three of them left the city.