My light is still too dim. That was the first thing Tyr thought upon awakening. He was too gray. Too pale to snuff out Cortus' own. What remained of it, even that small spark was very present in Tyr's minds eye. Not knowing how to refer to the man, seeing as shards were supposedly independent consciousnesses born from the true awakening of a primus class individual... Well, either should work.

Cortus Hastur had been his name in any event, somewhat odd how nobody ever seemed to connect two and two... Then again, Farron... Faeron...

It was astonishing what Hastur had managed to cram into a mortal frame. Finding another path to power, perhaps the first ever to do it in such an ingenious way. Clever beyond belief, but inefficient – not that there were any known alternatives. Splitting himself up through the use of clever haemonculi, less replacement bodies and more like auxiliary batteries that he could drain at any time to contain his tremendous reserves of energy. A web of many to hold what had remained of his consciousness, a shard should die alongside their primus – but Hastur hadn't, and this was how he'd done it.

Smart. To shatter oneself into a pseudo gestalt with only one single overriding will.

Tyr's was not enough, his power. But he knew how to get it, at least for now, their plan. He had to be a better person, he was sure that's what it was, Alexandros had been right. To go down the path of darkness or light, the split face of the balance, that was where ultimate power lay. His origin fire would find synergy right along with it.

He'd been asking himself the same question for so long. What do I do, where is my agency? What is my objective?

The way he saw it was thus, it had always been his conflict to challenge himself to find more... Conflicts. Chasing them down, standing before two potential opportunities by which to move in the future.

The easier path was always darkness, Tyr had noticed, but it wasn't just in action – it was in everything. Summarily, he didn't wish to go out of his way to do 'good' simply because he'd gain from it, but the alternative was to become irredeemable. Like Hastur. Cortus. A man who who should be evil, black in the soul, and yet his light was clean. Why? Why was he better than Tyr?

Because Tyr had no conviction, purpose was irrelevant but Tyr lacked the drive to take hold of it, that's how he felt. Cortus truly believed what he was doing was right, and conviction was a concept that simply didn't measure right or wrong. Belief and will made someone mighty, it was the root of all things. Tyr, however, was ambivalent in regard to most everything, he didn't plan much in advance in any obvious sort of way. He prepared, but he didn't plan, and there was a difference. His ambivalence or otherwise general aloofness prevented him from achieving what some might term a proper ambition. Otherwise, it had always been 'become a primus', which was an inconsequential goal to begin with, he'd been born one. That goal had already been met.

In any case...

Perhaps it was good, what Hastur was doing, in fact – there was no 'perhaps' about it. From Tyr's perspective, after maturing and learning to look at the world in his way, cut the arm to save the body. There was great validity in that, lancing out cancer, burning the infection away even if it meant an end of a life – because it'd save the rest of them.

That was 'morality', though. Or ethics, he often jumbled the differences but the point remained. Hastur would save the many by killing the few, Machiavellian heroism, and it wasn't wrong.

The problem was...

Tyr didn't care in the slightest how many people died, and neither did the universe. It had absolutely no concern for mortal concepts like these, and neither did Tyr. He wondered if there was a limit to believing one was right, or if there was no limit at all. It seemed shallow. But it was the same reason he couldn't kill Cortus, the man 'believed' harder than he did – or the ever problematic component of spira present in his withered shard simple 'existed' harder than he did. It was ridiculous, it made him 'more real'. Perception was reality, all of that nonsense great tyrants had told themselves in the past to justify atrocities.

Alas... Tyr wasn't one to criticize someone for that, he'd been at the source of several already. And he'd keep doing it if it kept the things he treasured right where he wanted them to be. Hastur believed his great solution a foregone conclusion, but Tyr had many pieces in play. In a brawl, he'd lose ten out of ten times to someone like that – but he'd take an arm or a leg with him and that's what mattered. To teach them a lesson, because he'd always be there. Again and again, gnawing and thrashing against the inevitable until it ceased to abide by the meaning of that word. Tyr was inevitable, Hastur was a dead man walking, so foregone that Tyr no longer cared to threaten or posture.

No less arrogant, he was simply assured. The time in which the world would see him for what he truly was, whatever path he chose, was approaching quickly.

“You're awfully hospitable for the primus of revenge.” Tyr observed, sipping a frosty mass of half frozen slush out of fluted glassware. They called it a 'pina colada'. Despite being far afield of the sea, coconut palms were apparently prolific in certain parts of Baccia. It wasn't half bad, all told. Tyr preferred the dry carbonated taste of a nice beer, but this was what he had, so he drank – as sugary and unpleasant as sweet alcohol was, coconut wasn't awful. Seated beside a vast aquamarine pool in one of the most luxurious estates he'd ever seen. Which was saying something, he owned a literal palace but it wasn't so... Tropical.

It was built some fifty miles west of Taur and surrounded by more green oasis. Appearing very much like a seaside resort, adobe and plastered brick, with proportions that would give many a Merchant Prince's villa a run for their money. Feet in warm sand, a cold drink in his hand, and dozens of voluptuous women all around him, swaying their hips suggestively and batting their false eyelashes at anyone who'd look. The lap of contextually luxury.

Tyr preferred the wilds, still dreaming of the cabin build on the face of a mountain. Spruce around, caught in a long snow that prevented others from disturbing him.

Several women had made passes at him, clearly important ladies from some insignificant somewhere he didn't give a shit about, laying there with a sword in hand and eyebrow raised. They'd stopped approaching him after that, but as with all profligates, they didn't fear – finding it a spot of charming amusement. Oh look, the barbarian, the famous butcher, how intriguing it must be. The same eyes staring at him as might behold the tiger in the carnival cages, thinking themselves safe.

Tyr was started to both feel and sound more like a villain every day. It wouldn't change his mind, though. He was his own god now, and he'd win.

All of the food was complimentary, and seemingly endless. For all Hastur's faults, the man sure knew how to party. Constantly, by the looks of it, which might've explained why his periods of inactivity seemed to stretch on for so long. Primus' had problems enjoying the pleasures of the flesh, but a 'regular' old human mage existed under no such disadvantage. It was a surprise there weren't a whole host of little Hastur's running around.

“I was never the primus of revenge, as some have claimed in the past.” Hastur replied with a relaxed voice, sunning himself beside Tyr. A very, very odd man who liked to flop his wrists around while he was speaking. “I was the primus of hatred, or something like it. Aversion, perhaps fear might be an appropriate word. We never truly know our aspects, we merely guess at it, and others often guess differently than we do. This only serves to benefit us, knowing our aspect is to know our weakness after all.”

“Is that why you tried to kill me when I was just a boy?” Tyr asked, brow raised. Rufus had given his life in defense of the prince back then. Never to speak with the boy again, and it had all been downhill from there. But Tyr didn't feel a need for vengeance related to memories that didn't quite feel his own. He still wanted to kill the man, but he knew it wasn't the right time. Something was tugging at him, hooks in his flesh, and he'd begun to follow the thread instead of resisting it.

By all accounts, Tyr was in a dozen places at once, he could hear the thrumming of machinery and feel knives in his flesh. Yet he was certain that physically, at least, he was located beside the pool – this was not an illusion. Perhaps a test, he was so incredibly tired, too much to bother with in the moment.

Hastur nodded. “You could say that. I was driven quite mad, there is so much hatred in the world. Too much of a thing is as bad as it gets for us. You were lucky. Love, which I've long suspected your aspect to be, is rare. Unheard of, practically, but mighty. Hate, jealousy, greed... These things scratched at my mind while our brothers lived with such simple aspects of their own. I had visions of you long before you were born, and they drove me insane – I think, caught as the dupe in some profane prophecy. Sacrificed my kingdom for it, I had this mad compulsion in me telling me to kill you at all costs, though I don't remember why I wanted it so bad. And then, as we both know, you managed to kill me. And here we are, enjoying the finer things in life. I don't hold grudges like you might, it is what it is, and in a way you could say that you freed me from a life not worth living.”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“Why...” Tyr frowned hard, wondering if he should bare himself like that – but Hastur wasn't the target of that hatred boiling up within him. He'd come to understand just how much he'd lost, being wrung dry by those events to become an unliving boogeyman. Shaped by his experiences, but Cortus himself had been forced to do so by his own aspect. Something Tyr was starting to understand, Vidarr's comment about them all being slaves. Powerful, yes, but cursed. “Why didn't my parents protect me?”

Hastur exhaled, a flicker of honest concern passing through his eyes. “Far be it for me, of all people, to comment on foul behavior. I have no honest love in me whatsoever, and never did, not even for my own children – but even I am not sure how anyone could do that to their own heir. Even if one forgets the familial relationships, your aspect would've been a tremendous boon in the future – the power of love is nothing to scoff at and Haran would've been great for it. I don't know Tyr, but at the same time, I believe your father loved you, and still does. Humorous how it all turned out, no?”

'Father'. Specifically, Hastur had only mentioned Jartor Faeron.

I am not that person anymore. Tyr sighed, doing his best to relax. Iscari had once said that Tyr would find hope in his scars, and if the primus of tangible hope said so... Perhaps it was time to put the anger down, the sword along with it, and go live a life of peace. Tyr wanted that more than he could ever possibly articulate.

“Funny? Not really. Learning that I was put out like some slab of meat to sink or swim against and awakened primus disgusts me. But don't think this is over.” Tyr said calmly. “To be honest, I'd very much like to bury an axe in your skull. If given the chance, I'd eat you alive. Literally. I am saying that I would cannibalize you, like I did to that rat Hans. I do not like that guy, by the way, being around him makes my hands itch.”

To want to live in peace, having been cast into such a wicked and violent form. Normal people didn't say things like that, or go around hunting and eating men.

“You're so earnest, brother Tyr.” Hastur laughed gleefully. “That's why I like you. You have many faults, but your earnestness is a blessing. You've spoken to all the others, haven't you? Liars. Hypocrites. But they too are my brothers. Our brothers. And I'd hate them if I could. Unfortunately, I cannot any longer, for we are the only family and kin that we'll ever have. I have no love, but I was left without hate by the same token, I am merely an instrument of purpose. We should be working together, you know?”

“You're wrong about that.” Tyr said. “I've got two hundred brothers. Maybe less considering you probably killed most of them, but the point still stands. I've never done anything alone, and I am humble to the fact. Without their belief in me, I'd have gone nowhere. Done nothing. I wouldn't be on the cusp of finally putting you in the ground for good. I do not care about the others, I feel nothing from them – they are empty vessels. Normal people, sometimes they disgust me too and I don't even know why.”

Hastur nodded. “As holders of emotion related aspects, that is true enough. Wise, even, we suffer the greatest burden of all in our contact with sentient beings. Speaking of family, do you not wish to contact your wives? Your employer? You've duties and responsibilities now, and a man ought to keep true to them.”

“Can't I leave whenever I want to?” Tyr asked. They'd been here for a few days and he wore no shackles, Cortus had given him the full run of the place and he wasn't even watched... Tyr stayed because he wanted to know why, but the man was mischievous and would never give him a straight answer. Why these things had been done to him and those around him, or why he'd been allowed to commit so many acts of taboo without being hunted down.

With that being said, Hastur was far more honest and amenable than the other primus' Tyr had interacted with. Through him, Tyr had learned much.

Nothing about the information provided indicated Jartor had ever wanted his son to be hurt or killed. Tyr had always considered his father the antagonist of his life, but when presented with the facts – Jartor had been protecting him quite fiercely since the day of his birth. Had smothered Tyr yet further after the events in Riven that had led to the death of Rufus. Not so aloof after all, it seemed, but he remained a poor excuse for a parent regardless. Tyr wasn't sure where to aim his ire anymore, left with nobody to blame but himself.

“Of course you can.” Hastur shrugged, loudly sipping at his own drink. The sun was so bright, reflecting pleasant on the unnaturally blue water. The refracted forms of wide hips cutting through the liquid as women played, all women – not much more than a handful of men present. “You can stay, go, do as you please. Fight me if you want to. Destroy this whole place. Kill everyone and everything in Baccia. I do not care. The climax of my plan is already a foregone conclusion, and thus I am at peace. Soon I will be whole again, and you'll see. And this time I'll have control of that curse foisted on me, that thing the unwise would call blessing.”

“You want to become a primus again?” Tyr raised an eyebrow. “That's not possible. Trust me, I might not be a genius but I've put enough thought into what we were that I know we cannot be made.”

Hastur shook his head. “Alas, not quite – primus as I'm sure you've learned is an empty title, none of them are true primus'. But anyone can achieve an aspect, I have the unique advantage of existing as a shard, that part of us that becomes it's own person, I suppose. One day, you will see – and together we will save this world. But you can't stop me, nobody can – it's too late for that.”

Primus', as in the true heralds, only ever came in 5's or 7's to the worlds they'd eventually be responsible for building a civilization on. 7's for the deadly sins, the quantity larger per the threat present on a world, and 5's for virtues. Based on what Tyr knew, he'd say that their world was of the '7' variety, he certainly didn't feel very virtuous. Perhaps he was simply looking for allegory where none existed - reliant on information he'd gathered from less than trustworthy sources.

“As you say.” Tyr frowned at the man's drama. The way he spoke was so... Irritating, for obvious reasons. Hastur truly cared for nothing but this 'plan' of his, except for Tyr himself by some happenstance. The idea that there were too many mages. Like a forest, the branches of humanity needed to be tended to and trimmed. If not, something 'bad' would happen, but Tyr was certain he was simply lost in some madness. Who cared if there were a lot of mages? Most of them were so weak as to not be a threat. Cortus wouldn't explain more than that because, self admittedly, he didn't know what would happen if he didn't do this thing of his, something that he'd been 'born to do'. Amistad was simply the most natural target, and Tythas' home of Amateus had been the first test run of mass slaughter to study the effects it had on the encroaching fog. “You seem to care about me more than you should.”

“Not so.” Hastur smiled softly. “If I had love, I'd say that I love you more than anything on this earth. Because you are like me, bound to fate. Like young Iscari, who I also care for. We three are the truest of all primus', holders of the arcanum rex. True kings, and the world knows it. Or, it did. Naturally, as I am broken, I am no longer of the number. You understand.”

“You really think what you're doing is right.” Tyr mused, lips turned downward in disgust. His code allowed for the killing of any and all armed men on a whim, but he'd not slay those who had no interest or capability to defend themselves.

“It's not about thinking, it's in the knowing. I know that it is right, I was filled with hate for so long that I may not have ever been able to love – but I know what the world looks like without it. I have forgotten so much, but if we don't do this thing – it's all over.”

“The 'Black Sun'?” Tyr asked, and the man nodded. Again noticing how oddly sage and amicable Hastur was, despite being the 'bad guy' in any scenario. Granted, he was almost certainly a psychopath and a fanatic proponent for genocide, a lot like Tyr if their paths had been swapped.

But he was, even in his lunacy... Almost monk-like in his convictions, determined to see it done and aware of the significance of his actions. Not very villainous... Morally gray, perhaps, that's how the man must've seen himself – but Tyr didn't see anything 'gray' about killing hundreds of thousands of innocent people.

Hastur shrugged. “I've forgotten my purpose but not the significance. It is difficult to explain, when your shard awakens you will see. And you'll forgive me, but what information I do have otherwise, I do not trust you enough to share. You are a... Troublesome young man. And I know you'll keep resisting me no matter what I say.”

“You're right about that.”

“Even if it means the world being engulfed by the mist and everything you love being taken away from you? Forced to start again? I'm not entirely sure if this will be another Black Sun event, but the fog will expand, and this world will drown in the resultant chaos.”

“Then I'll fight that too.” Tyr shrugged nonchalantly. “I'll kill anything and everything that threatens my peace, until the world was a barren plane of salt and ash. Even if it means I'll be the only one left, I am iron.”

“I believe you. But you'll lose.” Hastur chuckled. “Call your wives, brother Tyr, for too long was I engrossed in my enforced duty that I lost any chance at finding solace in the arms of another. Do not fall into the same trap that I did. Everything needs balance, our relationships with others are of the utmost importance. You need perspective, whatever the path you choose to take – doing it alone is a terrible burden, damning them to an ignominious end through ignorance is even worse. But I won't fault you for what seems to be your prime defining trait, your stubbornness.”

Tyr clutched hard the amulet in his hands. “I don't think I can. I said I wouldn't, promised something, and then I broke that promise. I always thought my oaths so important to me, but I'm not so sure if I can use that to cope with my failures anymore.”

“Then send them a written message.” Hastur frowned. “I had not expected you to be so... Anxious. It's not a bad thing, the human part of you speaking. Your wives deserve respect and maybe even a healthy dose of fear. But you should not kneel for them, that is not our place, nor is it theirs. Being the wife of a primus is a great and terrible burden in and of itself, forced to watch as we go about the work that few would understand.”

“...Written message?” Tyr asked. “What's that?”

“You can send messages of text via communication amulets.” Hastur replied. “It's much easier than speaking to someone directly. Did you not know this...?”

“I don't use it often.” Tyr pursed his lips, perplexed. “Can you show me how?”

Hastur had never been a complex man, from what he could remember of his time as a primus, he'd been similarly simple beyond the others. But even so, Tyr's naivety surprised him. For such a bright one, earning so much for himself through one circumstance or another, he was astonishingly unaware of so many things around him. Tunnel visioned and innocent in a way that drew a sharp disconnect with his ruthless behavior. Once again the comparison of the animal that only concerns itself with its three instinctual needs.

“So I shall.”

And he did. Just like that.

This Hastur, Cortus, who called him brother and treated him so kindly despite Tyr's constant promise of devouring him. He didn't even doubt it, only stating that it'd be several decades before Tyr would manage to come close to doing so. As it turned out, these 'text messages' were very common and 'everyone' knew how to send and read them.

Tyr almost regretted allowing himself to be taught, piling on the complexities of life...