Chapter III:

City: Dag

Planet: Urdu, mining colony

Star System: Industry Cluster

Ash's penthouse remained untouched within the derelict tower in the center of Dag's abandoned cityscape, easing the Ascendant’s tension as he retraced every part of the large, perfectly square space of barren concrete: A small bed in the northwest corner, a sunken-in sofa in the center. A crude monitoring stood against the southeast wall, keeping tabs on orbital activity and radio broadcasts — Urdu wasn’t exactly a high-tier planet, so their comm waves weren’t well encrypted. An invasion of privacy perhaps, but it paid off to listen for trouble. The southwest wall held mounted racks of tools over a long counter with several workstations, peppered with rows of clockwork machines and small hand-carved wooden statues. Adjacent to him at the doorway, the northern corner of the penthouse broke the brutalist concrete mold; the northwest and northeast walls instead replaced with floor-to-ceiling glass panels, overlooking the entire city and shantytowns beyond.

Ash breathed a little easier and strode in, Sol taking in the room behind, more than a little apprehensive. “…Cozy…”

“Floor’s been condemned,” Ash explained, throwing off his poncho and hanging it on a hook — no, not a hook, just a metal bolt Ash imbedded in the wall. “Nobody coming to check up on it,” he went on, examining the plasma burn on the chest piece of his chrome harness. “Gives me my privacy — apparently in short supply.”

“Condemned for what?”

“Mining accident caused a radiation leak a few years back, most of the city’s not safe. Central tower here was ground zero.”

Sol nodded, “Lower folk do have weaker constitutions for that sort of thing.”

Ash chuckled bitterly.

“What?” Sol asked genuinely. Ash cursed his sincerity — he truly didn’t mean any offense, but that didn’t bring Ash a lot of comfort. If anything, it just reinforced how broken their education was.

“‘Lower beings,’” Ash mocked.

“Oh,” Sol trilled his lips, an odd combination of dismissive and also trying to be diplomatic. “I mean, is it wrong? Can any of them fly? Or do what you do?”

“No one should do what I do,” Ash lamented, heading to his tool counter.

“Oh come on,” Sol followed in a backpedal, effortlessly aware of his surroundings, even in a new environment. “Don’t start that again, you know what I meant.”

Ash rolled his eyes as Sol drifted beside him at the work station. He remembered how jealous he could be of Sol’s Ascendant gifts, like constant cognizance of his place in space; it was almost impossible for him to lose balance or stumble on his own, and it really added to his smug persona. Ash knew Sol wasn’t actually that smug, but he sure made it hard to know it by sight alone. He wished he’d reached a leg out and tripped him like when they were younger, seeing his immaculate pretty boy friend take a face-plant always brought Ash a little piece of perfect joy.

Shaking away the nostalgia of bullying his best friend, Ash took a deep breath and thumbed a command on his harness. The coils retracted from his gauntlets and boots, re-spooling in the chest piece as he lifted it over his head and set it on the counter. He gently snatched a scalpel-like soldering tool from the rack before him and set to work on the plasma burn. Sparks fluttered from the chest plate, bouncing harmlessly off his hands and face as he sanded away the bits of compromised metal, before hanging the soldering iron back up and taking welding instrument instead.

Sol leaned back on the counter, and Ash finally groaned after the arduous awkward silence. “Fine,” he gave in, “What did you mean by that?”

Sol folded his arms and shrugged. “Just that, y’know…” he trailed, his casual manner contrasting the haughty cadence they try to enforce on Arleth, “The Mantle chose you.”

Ash winced, even at the name of the primordial energy force that inhabited him.

“I know it’s a little touchy for you, but it’s…it’s a gift.”

He scoffed. “You can return a gift.”

“Ash, the power in you really matters.”

“Oh, I know,” Ash fired back bitterly, “It’s all anybody could talk about.”

“I mean, can you blame them?” Sol’Sorien straightened. “There’s what, three primordial powers that forged all life, right? In the entire universe?? Creation’s Fire, the Tectonic Mantle and Supreme Recombination; how many people have wasted their lives seeking them out?”

Ash kept focus on the harness, but still replied, “Millions.”

“Right! And how many have actually mastered them? None!”

“One,” Ash corrected grimly. Silence hung for a moment, and Ash stole a quick glance at his friend. “What, you forget the extra power?”

Sol’s face faltered, he again swallowed nervously. “Nexus Terminum isn’t officially recognized as—”

“Oh give me a break,” Ash spat, “They still burying that on Arleth?”

“Look, creation’s a fickle thing, I’m not saying Nexus doesn’t exist, but the other primordial forces are observable — and they’re not even that abstract, okay? Creation’s Fire is just the formation of stars, then planets. The Tectonic Mantle is planets forming themselves with volcanic activity, that’s just mortal geology with extra steps. And Recombination is just time; things flourish and die, then their matter is broken down and reformed — is that so esoteric? Will you agree with me if I just call it science instead of faith?”

“I know what they mean, Sol,” Ash bristled. Most Astrals assumed he was a stupid brute, and Sol’s tone was an unpleasant reminder. “What gets me is why you can’t wrap your mind around Nexus. The universe began, right? At some point, it all has to come to an end. Not a rebirth, not a new cycle, an end — and the force that'll end it already exists. Nothing comes out of nowhere. So the ‘End' is already built into the fabric of creation. It’s connected to all things, that’s how it’ll finish the job. Is that beyond your grasp?”

“I,” Sol sighed, “…No.”

“No, what’s beyond you saps on Arleth is that that primordial force already has a master,” Ash took a step back from his work to gesture around them. “He’s not listening to us, Sol. You can say it:…the Maladact. My father is Nexus Terminum. The Inevitable End, made sentient.”

Ash went back to work. Sol was quiet for a long beat, then joined him back at the counter. “Fine,” he nodded, “But the Maladact took Nexus Terminum. It didn’t choose him, he…infected it. But if the Tectonic Mantle chose you, then it—”

“Don’t say ‘it must be for a reason,’” Ash shook his head, “If I have to hear that one more time, I’ll put my head through a wall.”

“You did put your head through walls back home,” Sol countered, offering a smile. “A lot of them, actually.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Only way to relieve the migraines I got when you uppity clowns talked about prophecy.”

“Well what other answer is there? The Maladact created an imbalance by harnessing Nexus, but the Tectonic Mantle is just as strong, maybe stronger, and—”

Ash dropped the smelting tool with a loud clatter and braced his hands on the counter, a growl escaping his throat as he shut his eyes tight. “I can’t believe this,” he said, “I’m such an idiot. I thought you came as a friend.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“You’re about to serve up the same old trash about how I have to come back home, rejoin the Council, and ‘do my part,’ aren’t you?”

“Listen!” Sol snapped back, pushing off the counter and pointing an authoritative finger. “I know it’s a sore subject for you, but this isn’t just about you! You have higher responsibilities, you’re not just an Ascendant, you’re supposed to be the God of War!”

“You already have one, last I checked.”

Sol hesitated again as Ash invoked Arleth’s previous war god. “I…the Dreadlord isn’t—”

“Seriously??” Ash groaned, exasperated. “After everything I just said, you’re still afraid to use their names? You honestly think, out of trillions of voices, you uttering some guy’s name will, what, bring a curse down on you??”

“I’m superstitious, that’s not a crime!”

“He’s not like my father, Sol, he’s just a guy,” Ash rolled his eyes, going back to his work station and retrieving the smelting tool. “Long lived, sure. Powerful, sure. But he’s a guy — he was born, he shit in his diapers, and he has a name, and he can’t hear you say it.”

“Okay, okay,” Sol gave way. Ash could see him grappling between the dogma of Arleth and his natural intuition.

Sol was loyal by nature, and being Ash’s friend often made that cut both ways. As the son of Arleth’s Goddess of Light, he had to keep the faith and be a good son. But he and Ash came up together, and Ash saw he was too smart and worldly to fully buy all the proselytizing, so it created a tug of war in the man. When he was around Ash long enough, he gave a little. And to be fair, Ash has now brought up the two names that would unsettle most folks in the universe. The Dreadlord was the pride of Arleth once, before his betrayal, and throwing his rule over Cindreth in an Astral's face wasn't taken lightly, let alone talking about Ash's father. Bringing up the Maladact tended to send a chill through any room, despite not even ruling Cindreth.

The Dreadlord ruled the Entrophs and all their colony worlds, but the Maladact was almost more than one being, and certainly well beyond the Dreadlord’s ability to command. He was more like the spirit of the Entrophs themselves. The voice in our hearts when we're angriest and most alone, telling us to lash out and strike, because the people or things hurting us deserve it. He is the pull to our vices. The sense that it’ll all be okay if we do just this one little thing that our friends and family tell us is so wrong.

After all, Ash reminded himself, that was how he turned the Dreadlord in the first place.

“…Axios,” Sol managed, finally using the Dreadlord’s given name, “Isn’t the God of War anymore. He was stripped of it when he defected, he’s a conqueror now — you know what that means?” Sol tipped his head, circling Ash. “He’s not suited to ruling just one place. He gets restless in peacetime. If he goes looking for another fight, we’re the ones who have to step in — and we’re down a High King and a God of War.”

Mentioning the High King sent a spark through Ash’s veins. For a split second he felt abandoned all over again. “So I’m on the hook for leaving, but Duriah isn’t?”

“Hey, you were there on the Council when he abdicated, you didn’t say anything then! He thought you’d be there to take the weight with the rest of us!”

“Yeah, so he left.”

“He abdicated.”

“Then he left!”

“So did you!!” Sol shouted back, lifting off his feet and leaning over Ash’s face. “And I’m sorry you were treated poorly for a long time, but you know what? You didn’t like being told you were important either! Which are you angry about?? Pick one!”

Ash’s fists tightened and the air rippled around him, the Tectonic Mantle roiling in him like water through grinding stones as his temper flared. He went through his steps of control with familiarity, stretching his neck to force its pulsing veins to relax, then rolling his shoulders down from their tensed lock. This was another example of the Astrals’ privilege; Sol could afford to get angry and shout, but Ash had to keep his temper in a cage. Unlike the Astrals, his anger had fallout that could rival a natural disaster.

To most, Arleth was gold and granite. To him, it was glass.

Ash sighed. “You don’t have to worry about me being gone,” he relented, focusing back on his work instead of feeding the argument. “The treaty holds up. I left Arleth after I’d been ‘raised’ already, those were the conditions. The High King fulfilled his end.”

Sol watched Ash condense himself and his eyes widened. He didn’t say anything, but he saw the imbalance — his temper got away from him, and Ash just let himself be yelled at so he wouldn’t lash out in response. Refused to defend himself as his friend escalated.

Embarrassed, Sol eased down to his feet and backed up a step, wringing his hands nervously. “I…yeah, yeah, I guess you’re right, but…what about her?”

Ash’s heart twitched. His hands stopped working, finger joints suddenly sore and his palms sweating. Now it was his turn to feel uneasy about a fallen Astral: the High King and Queen’s daughter, traded to the Entrophs.

“Val—what was her name?” Sol earnestly tried to recall, “Valker—volk…”

“Valkor’Alinares,” Ash finished.

Sol looked him up and down. “Yeah. We never hear anything about her. What if she left early? Then Cindreth has all the excuse they need to start another war…and you’d be gone.”

Ash blinked hard and laughed hollowly. “So I have to go back…just to be safe?”

Sol pulled his lips in and shrugged slightly, “I’m so sorry, but…yes.”

Ash kept laughing. “And then, just to be safe, I have to kill Axios for you all. And then, just to be sure, I have to slay my father like your little prophecy said, and then, just to be certain, I have to destroy Cindreth, all its colonies, and everyone in them! AND THEN, AND THEN, AND THEN!” Ash hurled the instrument at the wall, imbedding it in the concrete as he turned on Sol’Sorien, rapid and riled up. “Great seeing you, Sol. Thanks for the warning, but I can look after myself — you should all try it sometime.”

Sol shook his head and raised his hands, brows creased with regret and hurt. “Don’t push me out, man,” he pleaded, “Please, I’m just trying to—”

Ash took a big step closer and whipped a fist against the wall, cracking the concrete in a five-foot spiderweb. Sol stumbled back, actually losing his balance. Glowing red veins crawled up Ash’s neck and cracked across the whites of his eyes. As he spoke, the air rippled again, giving his voice a demonic reverb.

“You’re just…trying…to help,” Ash frothed, “Of course you are. That’s all you Astrals ever do. Help all the puny little bug races see the light. How thoughtful. Thanks, but no thanks,” Ash suddenly shut his eyes tight and buried his face in his hands. He staggered back and groaned, breathing deep. The rippling subsided, and the glowing red lines receded down his neck. He looked at Sol on the floor, then himself. Shock, fear and guilt fought for control on his face.

He scared his friend. His only friend.

Ash closed himself off and went back to the counter, but didn’t resume his work. He just hunched over and looked off. “…If Arleth wants me back, they can come and get me.”

Silence hung again, Ash breathing deep and waiting a while, before pulling his welder out of the wall and bending the damaged pieces back in place. After fixing his tool for fixing, he went back to fixing his harness. A fresh cold sweat on his face, he didn’t look back when Sol’Sorien came closer again, forlorn. He cautiously laid a hand on Ash’s shoulder.

“I’d never let them do that.”

He squeezed Ash’s shoulder, then backed away. He drifted off his feet and hovered toward the exit, then finally turned. “If you do change your mind,” he opened the door. “…I miss my friend.”

Ash didn’t look until Sol’Sorien finally left. As the door eased shut, a shaky exhale spilled out of Ash, nearly a full-on sob. He leaned his head on the wall, shutting his eyes and trembling with shame.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, but sundown finally came and he grabbed a wood statuette from the counter. He ambled toward the corner with the glass panel walls. He rotated one of the panels downward until it opened enough for him to step out. Ash walked carelessly to the corner ledge of the building and plopped down, dangling a leg over the edge as he tucked a knee to his chest. He took the statuette in both hands and examined it: A jungle tree, with three large stalks diverging from the center of the trunk, making it look like a three-fingered hand facing the sky. It tugged at memories of Arleth. A place he felt safe. Where he and Sol and …Emmer, he thought. Even thinking her name made him sink. In all this tension and arguing, he didn’t even ask how Emmer had been. If she’d invented anything new, if she’d finally gotten that retro asteroid runner restored properly.

If she’d forgotten about him and moved on yet.

And on the subject of women he’d failed, his thoughts drifted to the High King and Queen’s real heir, Valkor’Alinares. The one who took his place on Cindreth, under the Dreadlord’s spiteful custody. The one subjected to all the violence and cruelty he should’ve been, while he just lamented his unfair treatment growing up in paradise. He shook the thoughts away. He couldn’t live in yesterday, it would just tear him up inside.

Todays might have challenges, tomorrows might give anxiety, but nothing hurt more than yesterdays.

He sighed and focused on what was around him, re-grounding. He whittled the statuette by kneading it with his thumbs, shaving off layers of wood with his own strength and shaping it with care and dexterity. His gaze fixed on the vertical sunset. The blue gas giant Silfir obscured the sun beyond them, the light bouncing off the rolling aqua clouds of its surface. It cast a brilliant magenta across the night sky. The sun disappeared behind the giant, but the vibrant sky just kept stretching.

He stared out, and infinity stared right back.