Ambrosius simply led Casus into the basement, where a miniature urban landscape of astonishing detail stretched across a table. In the span of a few minutes, he brought out boxes of miniatures and re-set the battle state as it was nearly a year ago when they had last spoken like this. The saint didn't say a word, simply playing his turn. Two of his thaumaturge units got a lucky strike in and cut down Casus' graft-beast. So it went for around three hours, finishing out that battle and beginning another before Casus managed to order his thoughts enough to put some of them into words: "I have lived my life with the unwavering belief that I was to be the next Silberblut. If that is not my role, then why... What..."
Three turns - about half an hour - passed before Ambrosius answered.
"Tell me, young one. Is a man no more than a flesh-automaton? Is a son no more than the sum of his parents? Is a fullgraft no more than the sum of the saints from whose parts their body was crafted?"
"No," Casus answered without hesitation.
"And what, pray tell, is the reason? What differentiates you from your unthinking brethren, who tirelessly maintain the Wheel?"
"The indomitable spirit of divinity which burns within all mankind."
"Straight from the scriptures," said the saint, smiling.
They continued to play in silence for some time, and spoke for far longer than that, into the night and unto dawn. Eventually, Casus reached a conclusion: "I believe I shall be able to move past this, but I will require time in the Chamber of Reflection."
"Are you certain? You know the risks," Ambrosius asked, but didn't try to dissuade him.
"I know them better than most. I believe a day will be enough."
"Very well. Besides Favonia, Firminus, and Fidelia, is there anyone who should be informed regarding your status should complications occur?"
"Yeah," Casus nodded.
Several hours later, he was floating in a tank of fluid deep beneath the Central Temple, in a chamber whose walls held two dozen such tanks. It was not a dreamless, peaceful slumber, but a journey into his own psyche induced through elixirs and absolute sensory deprivation. He'd done this before, once. It wasn't fun then. It wasn't fun now. The fluid was, in fact, a vast colony of engineered bacteria that at once drew out bodily waste and supplied the body with nutrients. The risks were many; mental damage, delusions, even permanent catatonia.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Nonetheless, he found at least part of the answer he had been searching for.
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Krahe, as much as she disliked it, understood why Casus decided to send that message back to the safehouse. If she was understanding it correctly, he was taking a significant risk, comparable to her own choice to dive into the Astral Gulf not long ago.
He returned seemingly no better or worse off, but there was something different about him.
When he started asking about how she saw the matters of legacy and inheritance, she knew he'd chanced upon something in that glorified sensory deprivation tank. She gave it some thought, and, at first, she decided to just parrot the words of someone who had given this matter far more though than she.
"A great philosopher from my world's ancient past once said that tradition is the preservation of fire, not the worship of ashes. But... That's not what you need to hear. What you need to hear is that you will never be the Silberblut of legend. The only thing you'll achieve by mirroring your predecessor is to become a distorted echo of him in our era."
"Then... How would you see it if someone did for you as I have been doing for Silberblut?"
"Honestly?"
"Lady Blackhand, my convictions are not so fragile as to break this easily," said the Banisher, not entirely certain of his own words. "I have come to learn that you are more honest than most when it comes to giving your unfiltered thoughts. Of course I want your honesty."
"If I learned of someone trying to embody the idea of me five centuries after my death, let alone five millennia, I would be confused at best. Most likely, I would be a bit disturbed. It would be an imitator, not a successor. But if someone were to, let's say, discover some of my old grafts and use them to unearth a conspiracy and bring down the masterminds in their own time, I might consider such a person a worthwhile successor. I don't know what Silberblut was like when he still lived, but if I was him, I would prefer for a would-be successor to use my coupler for his own ideals, not for slavish imitation of mine."
Krahe took a long swig of ekarone juice as she watched her words sink into Casus.
She then added: "That being said, I think I prefer your idealism to Silberblut's cold judgment. I mean, 'guilt repaid with cold blood, each and every guilty man'? A bit harsh. Even I wouldn't chop off a petty thief's hands."
"I admit that some of my predecessor's recorded judgments gave me pause as well. It is why I worked so hard to ensure I had full control of myself before I used the belt..." Casus trailed off, his gaze shifting across the table to the Silberblut Coupler's vacant eye. His features hardened, and newfound determination crept into the banisher's voice: "I suppose now it is time to take full control of the belt itself. Tell me another, Lady Blackhand, before I go."
"Another what?"
"Another quote from one of your world's saints."
"Hmm, I never did study ancient history much, I usually read these whenever one extremist or another used them on a poster," Krahe shrugged, but nonetheless furrowed her brow as she went rooting around in her memory. "I think I recall that Saint Augustine once said... What was it he said? Barzai, help me here. The one about anger and courage."
She held out her arm, splitting it open lengthwise to let the eidolon manifest itself. Barzai popped out and took up a perch on her open palm, tilting his head back and forth. He looked at Krahe.