You're weak.

I'm dying. There's a difference.

I wish I would have believed you.

There was so much for you to take in.

And here you are, almost gone.

I have a few moments left.

What happens when you're gone completely? Will I lose my mind?

I don't think so. The man is coming for you. He'll give you what you wish before then.

The man?

I don't want to say his name just now. Wouldn't you prefer to have a few surprises still?

No. I despise unanswered questions, or rather, I despise worrying over what I don't know, so I don't have any thoughts on surprises. Until I'm there, I don't care.

I'll let you go on claiming that. Though, if you were to read your own memoir, you'd realize what a lie that is. Why, what other purpose could you have for writing it, other than pondering over the branching paths that lead you here?

There's a few questions I'd like answered, I suppose.

Don't worry about the death you've caused.

I don't.

Good. Everyone who stood in your way put themselves ahead of the lives of all the future.

I know. I have other questions than that.

Such as? Come on now. Humor me.

I'd like to know what Abdiel thinks of me. I'd like to know how Turk feels about me. I'd like to know what Eris loved about me. I'd like to know if I was right to kill Patches. I'd like to know...

You were wrong to kill the Colonizer. What else?

I'd like to know if there even is a 'me'. I know even less of the Batch than I did before speaking with V.

He always lied. Especially to himself.

So I am he? And there is no me?

You witnessed an asuran birthing rite, and you ask me this?

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A what?

You call them ennui. You saw without what most often happens within. It's no different with the Batch. The battle in the sky should be all the proof you need that you are your own Victor.

I'll accept that, since it comes from you. You're fading.

Yes. It's been a long time coming.

You told me that you would never fade.

You needed to be eternal. Now you're ready for the truth, and I could not hide it anymore if I wanted to, and I don't.

Will you tell me something about yourself, before you're gone?

I was beginning to feel offended that you had no questions about me, after all I've done to help you.

Even if I were to live as long as my familiar allows, I'd never have the time to fathom a creature such as you. But, I will write about you, and I want to do you justice. What will you have my readers know? You're smiling.

Who will your readers be? You never did consider that when we were together.

You guided the building of Clarion, and you ask that?

Touche. Tell your readers this, then. I am a mother, but not in the way you think.

You've birthed children?

You met them in the depths.

Thank you. I met a lot of people in a lot of deep places. But I can only imagine yours were they who rang the bells.

They learned that from their father.

Does he live?

No. He died so I could make it this far.

And now you die, so that I could make it this far. When does it end?

Somewhere, sometime, a man or woman, or boy or girl, will sit beside a lamp with a full belly, and will fall asleep reading sad or frightening story, because the world will be at peace, and only in stories will they find the tragedy they've been spared.

Tarthas will not fade quickly.

Tarthas is already crumbling. You slew the beast, Victor. But you're not entirely wrong. That dream is far off still. Those who read your own tale will still be close to suffering. Before the return to gold, iron must once again be bronze. There will be violence still in years to come. May your trials serve as a catharsis for them.

I hope that my suffering might comfort them. I hope they see that they are not alone.

All who wish to die, but can't bring themselves to make their own end, will find a place to feel welcome in the dying world you gave peace to. Peace, Victor. Tarthas is at peace.

It is a beast. A tired, sick, decaying beast with poisoned blood, and many aspects of foreign limbs grafted onto it weighing it down. I called him Janus. How could I have known then what V had done to him?

The same way you'll be able to answer all your other questions.

I know I'm not one of the great lords you bore, but I would like to think of you as my mother, all the same. If it doesn't bother you.

You were born of a man who was born of a woman. Why not visit her in your dreams? Do you fear the gift Turk delivered you to?

I am not her son. She would not know me if she saw me

Sure she would. A mother always knows her children. Victor, it's time.

Thank you.

I still might be able to finish my story. These bunkers dug into the summit house some powerful djinn. They seem untouched by time, like those in Elvedon, and are calming me somewhat, keeping me whole. They're as busy as the Elvedon djinn as well. What the Painted Lady did, they're maintaining, keeping Clarion and the city below and the holy mountain in each other's grasp, all while the empty mountain from long before the Fall draws unfriendly eyes away. I'd hoped those eyes to be shut by now. Perhaps they are, and perhaps the djinn are holding Clarion and the holy mountain still so that I can look on my works? I'd like to think that one thing at least has been done for my sake.