Chapter One Hundred Sixty-Eight: ‘Look erstwhile and take heed...’
Seyos’ body barely had the opportunity to go limp before time itself seemed to slow. The body caught in midair, scarcely falling at all, and Royo simply watched.
His own movements were slowed as well, apparently, though his mind was not.
What was the Eye doing? He’d tucked it into the belt around his waist earlier and now would’ve liked to remove it, but at the speed his hand was going, it seemed like it would take a good ten minutes to make the journey.
Was it trying to show him something? To help him understand something?
He had just killed a man. It was not likely that the timing of this was coincidental.
He tried to observe Seyos more closely. The dying Hun’Sho man was like a volcano. And not because of his magma body. Rather, because of the enormous output of raw emotion and information. There was so much of it there now, shooting out of his body in all directions.
Perhaps the Piercing Eye was trying to give him time to observe it all.
Yes, that must have been it, Royo figured. The Eye hadn’t actually slowed time itself, merely his perception of it.
Wonderful. Now he was going to be stuck here, watching this bastard die in slow motion while he waited for his own hand to remove the Piercing Eye and free himself.
Royo didn’t care about anything he was seeing. He didn’t want to know more about Seyos.
But there wasn’t much else to do.
Ah. The glove. The object that was responsible for killing Seyos. Royo still didn’t even know if it had a name, as he had yet to examine it with the Eye.
The Demon’s Grip, the Eye told him. A gloved artifact capable of increasing the wearer’s strength by a factor of up to one hundred thousand. Crafted 122 years ago by Morgunov.
Royo’s eyes might have widened if he could move them that quickly. He pressed the Eye for greater detail.
An object which requires precision training in order to bring out its full potential.
That was all the information the Eye had for him. He would’ve liked to know more about Morgunov, as he certainly recognized the name, but the Piercing Eye didn’t work that way, it seemed.
So he’d finally begun to discover its limitations. He had started to wonder if the Eye simply didn’t have any.
Royo observed the progress of his hand toward the Eye.
Still about nine-tenths of the way to go.
He wanted to sigh.
He also wanted to look around and check up on the Box of Perdition, but that would’ve required turning his head.
Fine.
He observed the still-falling Seyos.
There was so much information there that Royo wasn’t even sure where to begin.
He supposed that it did make him curious, though. What was all of this information, exactly? Just the man’s emotions? No, it couldn’t be. Dying wasn’t that complex, was it?
Perhaps it was. Especially for an immortal Hun’Sho.
Royo wanted to smile.
He chose the first “thing” that his eyes stopped on and tried to unpack it.
A memory, it seemed to be. Of what? What was this color? Green? It was so bright. Royo hadn’t seen much of it in his lifetime, certainly not in shades like this. Plants, he supposed they were.
It must have been the surface. He’d read enough about it. So Seyos had been to the surface, had he? Bastard. A part of Royo had always wanted to go there, ever since he was a child, but he knew it was impossible for a Hun’Kui. The environment there was deadly.
Maybe it wouldn’t be impossible for a god, though. Now there was a thought.
Royo moved on to the next memory without even delving further into that one. There were so many. He just wanted to find something interesting. Maybe even something informative. With as long as this asshole had been alive, he must have known all sorts of useful things, right? It only made sense.
He wondered if there was some easier way to navigate through everything than just picking whatever caught his eye. He tried to press the Eye for something more. Something clearer.
The Eye provided.
The memories became more distinct to him. Not visually, perhaps, but still distinct nonetheless. Only so much of the Eye’s perception was visible. All of this information streaming into his mind was not like text popping in midair waiting for him to read it. Rather, it simply appeared in his head, describing itself to him in a manner similar to--but thankfully still distinguishable from--his very own thoughts.
And all of these memories became linked to one another along an apparent timeline. Royo was able to navigate his way back all the way to the beginning.
It took a while.
There were noticeable gaps as well, which Royo supposed made sense. Memories became clouded and lost over time. It was only human to forget things. He had begun thinking that Hun’Sho simply weren’t human, but perhaps they were, after all.
There it was. The oldest memory.
It was a face. And not that of a Hun’Sho or a Hun’Kui, but of a surface-dweller.
They all looked more or less alike to Royo, but he could at least tell that this one was male and elderly. The old man was saying something, but Seyos apparently couldn’t understand him, so neither could Royo.
Royo demanded more detail.
The Eye provided.
The old man in the memory was Seyos’ father, Avaross. An incarnation of Avar.
The linked memories were beginning to make more sense to Royo, arriving in his perception as a merged group of information rather than separate pieces.
This man was the father of the first generation of Hun’Sho. A generation of which Seyos had been a member.
Avaross gave everything to his children. He spent a century raising them, teaching them, placing all of his hopes upon them.
And Royo began to see...
> A fledgling Hun’Sho. A boy by any standard. But with an unparalleled father.
>
> Avaross inspires them all. He instills in them principles of morality. Of goodness. Hope. Prosperity. And of course, peace. He teaches them of an ideal world. One which He wants their help in building. That is why He has made them the way they are. That is why He granted them immortality.
>
> The boy can only admire Him. Avaross is greatness personified, loving them all in equal measure, giving them all equal attention.
>
> Under His guidance, the Hun’Sho flourish. Their numbers grow quickly at first, as Avaross instructs them in how to have children. New incarnations of themselves. Identical in every physical aspect, yet still carrying a new soul and new ardor. Male or female, every Hun’Sho is able to bring life into the world.
>
> In time, this strikes the boy as strange. He comes to learn of the surface world and the people there. Of the men and women there. He decides to ask his father about why He decided to give the Hun’Sho two genders.
>
> “With you, my beloved children, I have done my best to replicate the civilizational successes of humanity as I have witnessed them--and likewise, to avoid the failures. I do not believe that either gender is one of those failures.”
>
> The boy is not sure he understands, but it matters little. There is much yet to learn, and he has eternity to do so.
>
> They work hard, all of his brethren. They build. They follow Avaross’ every command, listen to His every word and desire. They become His ideal people. And the world they create for themselves is good.
>
> For a time.
>
> Father begins to change. His behavior. His actions. He grows impatient with them, at times. Not as kind as He once was. More and more, He seems weary, yet when they ask, He says nothing is wrong. He says the world is wonderful. He says they have nearly achieved His ideal.
>
> Nearly achieved. Nearly. Ever nearly.
>
> The boy and his kin continue onward, undeterred. One day, that ideal WILL be achieved. They are immortal. It is inevitable. One day. And then Father will smile again. Father will be happy again.
>
> But that is not what happens.
>
> Instead, Father creates the Hun’Kui.
>
> They are different. So very different. Each of them is distinguishable in their physicality. None can reproduce independently. They are much more like the poor wretches of the surface than the Hun’Sho are.
>
> The boy pities the Hun’Kui. But he understands them, as do the other Hun’Sho. He understands that Father has created these ashen beings so that the Hun’Sho can guide them to their own level of greatness--and in so doing, perhaps even achieve still higher greatness as well. Then the Hun’Sho will be more like Father than ever before.
>
> The boy does as much as he can. He befriends as many Hun’Kui as he can. Many of them are pleasant. Many of them are amusing.
>
> But they have so little potential. They are so primitive. It is difficult to connect with them on anything other than the most superficial of subject matter.
>
> They are wild. They are impulsive. They are little better than animals, driven almost entirely by their instincts. Civilizing them will take many, many years, the boy feels.
>
> But that, too, is fine. For the Hun’Sho are blessed with immortality. However long is required, the deed will be done.
>
> And yet...
>
> Father spends so much time with the Hun’Kui. They are constantly demanding his attention, constantly in desperate need of it. Of course they are. They cannot help themselves. They are as pitiful as newborn babies and even slower to learn. Entire generations of Hun’Kui come and go, making the same essential mistakes their entire lives.
>
> So why does Father seem to enjoy their company so much more? Why does He forgive and forget their transgressions so easily? This was not how He raised the Hun’Sho. He was strict. He was instructive. He was attentive. Yet now He is none of those things. Now He spends almost all of His time with the Hun’Kui, not even bothering to teach them anything. He simply idles among them, which surely only serves to reinforce the Hun’Kui’s own problem of idleness, no?
>
> Slowly, it is all falling apart. The boy sees it, day by day. The world that he and his brethren have built under Father’s guidance--it is beginning to rot. Progress is being lost. Potential is being lost.
>
> The boy does not know what to do. This is when Father would normally encourage him or teach him something new, something useful and helpful to everyone. But Father is not doing that. Father is too busy attending to the Hun’Kui.
>
> Their work is failing. They cannot seem to help the Hun’Kui. They are outnumbered so greatly. The Hun’Kui multiply at such a rate that the Hun’Sho cannot keep up. It is too much work, trying to help all of them.
>
> The boy tells Father of these concerns.
>
> But Father does nothing. He says only to keep trying.
>
> It makes so little sense. Did He not design the Hun’Sho to achieve His ideal? Why, then, does the good behavior of the Hun’Sho go unrewarded? Why does the bad behavior of the Hun’Kui always seem to earn Father’s attention? His affection, even?
>
> The boy does not understand. Were the Hun’Sho not Father’s favorite? How could that be? They work so much harder than the Hun’Kui. They try every day to better themselves, to follow Father’s teachings.
>
> Why must this feel so painful? Even the Hun’Kui, with all of Father’s attention, seem to be largely miserable. There are so many of them in need, and they cannot all bask in the glory of Father’s presence simultaneously.
>
> The boy is not sure for how much longer he can withstand it. And his peers, the other Guong, are all expressing similar sentiments.
>
> But what can be done? This is Father’s will, no?
>
> Their world is becoming a terrible place. Full of stagnation and sickness and suffering. This cannot be the ideal which Father desired.
>
> Then, one day, when the boy’s hope is just about at its end, another among the Hun’Sho takes decisive action.
>
> His name is Torosh. He is the boy’s peer, one of the original generation, though some are now considering him their leader, the greatest among the Guong.
>
> Torosh begins imprisoning Hun’Kui. He is even talking of executing some of them, though only those who have been found guilty of particularly heinous crimes.
>
> This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
>
> Where before, the Hun’Sho had always deferred to Father’s ever-forgiving judgment, Torosh is going against Him. Torosh speaks at length to the rest of them about his decision.
>
> “If we are to help the Hun’Kui, truly help them, then we cannot continue as we have been. While we may have all the time we desire to achieve our goals, the Hun’Kui do not. It is not a mercy or a kindness to take a gentle approach. Order must be reestablished if we are to have any hope of making progress again.”
>
> The boy agrees, for the most part, but he fears going against Father. He does not think it wise. And so he does not join Torosh in making this decision. The boy buries such thoughts and does as he has always done. He follows Father’s orders.
>
> As do most of the Hun’Sho. Torosh’s actions have divided them.
>
> When Father learns of what Torosh and the others are doing, He is not angry. But he is not pleased, either. He is eerily calm.
>
> “Freedom is integral to the goal of an ideal world,” Father tells them. “That you do not understand this after all this time, is my failing, I suppose. Forgive me, my children.”
>
> Father frees their prisoners. And then He imprisons Torosh and his followers, instead.
>
> The boy is more fearful than ever now. But he is glad that he did not disobey Father.
>
> As time goes on, the boy becomes increasingly convinced that Torosh was right. The suffering of the Hun’Kui continues, unabated. And their suffering becomes the Hun’Sho’s suffering. Even if the ashen wretches bring most of it upon themselves, it is painful to observe it every day like this.
>
> Senseless. Senseless and horrific.
>
> The boy gives up. There is no point to this struggle. He decides to stop worrying and simply do as he is told. It is better this way. It is better to not care. Caring only brings disappointment and sorrow and pain. Allowing himself to become numb to it all is the only real solution, he realizes.
>
> Perhaps this is Father’s true lesson. That suffering is endless and hoping for anything better is an exercise in futility.
>
> Then, a man arrives.
>
> No.
>
> Not just a man. Something more. Father’s equal.
>
> The way they speak to one another. The way they pay each other respect. And most of all, the way they quarrel. Rarely, has the boy ever seen Father get so angry as when He speaks to this man.
>
> The boy is curious for the first time in a long time. He wishes to know more of this person. He decides to ask.
>
> “I have no name, little one. For I am He Who Is Not.”
>
> “Why have you come here?” the boy asks.
>
> “I have always been here. I know your struggle, young Seyos. I know you feel lost. Tell me. Do you believe Avaross is to blame for your misery and that of your kin?”
>
> The boy does not know what to say. He does not wish to lie. But he does not truly know if he blames Father. Perhaps a part of him does, even if he had not allowed himself to acknowledge it all this time.
>
> “...You love Avaross, even now?”
>
> That, at least, the boy can answer. “Yes, of course I do. He is my father.”
>
> “You are a good son.”
>
> The boy does not know what to think or feel. Somehow, this man reminds him of how Father used to be. There is... a warmness there that the boy has not felt in a very long time.
>
> “I will try to help you if I can.”
>
> But just as quickly as the man had arrived, He Who Is Not is gone again.
>
> The boy is more conflicted than ever. More confused than ever. He wants to leave, to travel and learn more of He Who Is Not, but the boy is scared.
>
> So he stays.
>
> And things continue to worsen. The Hun’Kui do not organize. Or rather, they cannot. Whenever they try, others among them arrive to rob and murder them, to take from those who have worked hard for what they have. It is not just.
>
> Yet Father continues trying to change the Hun’Kui’s very nature with words alone. Even though He was the one who made them that way. He wants them to choose to do the right thing on their own. He wants them to be moral, as the Hun’Sho are moral.
>
> Or does He? The boy does not truly know anymore. Avaross is a mystery to him now.
>
> But it does not matter. The boy is powerless to do anything. This is the domain of Avaross and none may go against His will.
>
> And then it happens.
>
> Avaross disappears.
>
> There was no warning. No trace left behind. He is simply gone.
>
> And no one knows what to do.
>
> The Hun’Kui panic. And so do the Hun’Sho, though in a more reserved manner. Without guidance or protection, the world is suddenly much more terrifying.
>
> Soon, however, a man wrapped entirely in bandages arrives. He does not speak, but he carries a message for the Hun’Sho and Hun’Kui.
>
> A message from He Who Is Not.
>
> “You are now free,” it reads. “Do as you will, and have will as you do it. All that I can do for you, I have now done. Goodbye.”
>
> Many more years pass. Torosh and his followers are freed during this time. They are as confused as everyone else when they learn what has happened, but Torosh is able to galvanize the Hun’Sho and help guide the Hun’Kui toward order. It is difficult, because the ashen wretches have much to learn and are often unwilling and even violent.
>
> A firmer hand is required. The Hun’Sho are in agreement. It may have been against the wishes of the Avaross whom they most recently remember, but they do not believe it would be against those of the Avaross whom they remember raising them.
>
> So they subjugate the Hun’Kui by force. It is a miserable process. Grueling and often bloody. But the boy does not see hope in the alternative. Letting the Hun’Kui remain free to bring ruin upon themselves does not strike him as wise.
>
> The boy cannot hold slaves himself, however. He finds it too distasteful, even if he understands his kin’s logic and does not think any less of them. He cannot wholly disregard the shadow of Avaross, as the others seem to.
>
> Instead, after a semblance of structure and hope for peace has been achieved, the boy decides to travel. He believes there is much to be learned, elsewhere in the world.
>
> And indeed, there is.
>
> He learns of other gods. He learns of their sudden absence.
>
> And perhaps most importantly, he learns the tales of He Who Is Not. The God of All That Is Not. The Void. And the many other names. It is confusing, because each culture calls Him something else. It seems as though He never identified Himself properly.
>
> From all the tales of different gods that the boy hears, the God of All That Is Not seems to be the most mischievous among them. They always tell of how He interferes in the other gods’ plans, disrupting their efforts, playing pranks on them. Some even describe Him as evil--or as Evil itself.
>
> But the boy does not think so. He wishes that he could meet the God of All That is Not again, but the one thing he learns definitively from all of these tales is that He is gone.
>
> All of the gods, the Primordials, have left. The God of All That Is Not has removed them from this world, save one.
>
> Malast. The Idle God. The God of the Underworld.
>
> The boy seeks Him out, this remaining god.
>
> It takes a very, very long time. Thousands of years, even.
>
> The boy becomes a thief along the way, because from all the tales he has heard, there is only one method for acquiring Malast’s attention. Stealing--or at least, attempting to steal--the Urn of Growth.
>
> The boy worries. It is terribly dangerous, of course. No one in the tales survives Malast’s wrath. They all die in the attempt. But the boy has confidence in his skill. He has acquired several useful artifacts during his journey, artifacts which he has stolen from the irresponsible and undeserving. The Staff and Pendant of Unso, in particular.
>
> He succeeds. He gets away with the Urn. But he dares not open it. He learned much of the fearsome power that magical artifacts such as this can hold. And of course, this was never his objective, either. His wish was to speak with Malast without being instantly turned to dust by a god’s wrath.
>
> So the boy begins planning.
>
> After all these years, he returns to his kin, to his home. And he is welcomed into a land of tremendous prosperity. He is not surprised. He has heard the whispers of the Hun’Sho all over the world, the hushed tales of their magnificence and power, both feared and desired.
>
> The boy could not be prouder. He has never felt such unity with his kin as he does now. It is entirely wonderful. And he is all the more pleased when they welcome him home--as they should, for he has brought many, many gifts with him.
>
> He becomes a Guong once more and strives to help the Hun’Sho reach still greater heights of prosperity.
>
> There are so many Hun’Sho now. And so many more Hun’Kui. But these are not problems, as they once would have been. Infrastructure and order have turned these into blessings. Into potential.
>
> He takes his subjects and builds a city. Himmestat. It is an enormous undertaking, and he has more work than he knows what to do with, more problems than he knows how to fix, but he never forgets his plan. He never forgets his objective to one day meet the only remaining god in the world.
>
> The other Guong are now being difficult. The love he once felt for them has faded rather quickly. They are jealous of all that he has. Even with as much as he has shared, they still desire more. They seem to think him undeserving of his riches--and of his followers, too. The other Guong attribute Himmestat’s success not to his actions but to those of his immediate subordinates.
>
> This bothers him. Because he knows that there is more truth in it than he would care to admit. Torveis, in particular, is very competent and personable. Even the Hun’Kui seem to show genuine affection for him. And the boy hears the whispers, the surreptitious talk of wanting Torveis to become Himmestat’s new Guong.
>
> They don’t understand. But he will show them.
>
> He builds a vault. The greatest vault in all the world. Himmekel. Here, he will finally be able to set the stage for his meeting with Malast. And protect that which is his, as well.
>
> It takes many years, but he manages it. He uses a few of Rathmore’s Tools to help get the job done and even builds a network, connecting Himmekel with distant treasure troves that he had created or found during his travels.
>
> So much work. All culminating to this. The Vault of Paradise.
>
> And finally, after all is prepared, he spreads the rumor. The rumor that the Urn of Growth is hidden away in Himmekel.
>
> Sure enough, Malast arrives, looking for it.
>
> At first, the boy is careful not to present himself directly before the god. In time, however, he sees that Malast is not at all what he had expected.
>
> Malast does not wish to kill him. Malast merely wants the Urn back. The boy does not seem to concern or interest him in the slightest.
>
> Yet the Idle God does not leave. He merely sits there, in a chair of stone. The boy has never seen him get up from it. Even when Malast first appeared, He had already been sitting in it. The boy does not understand. But then, such is the mysterious power of a god, he supposes.
>
> He asks Malast many questions, wanting to get to know the God of the Underworld better, but it is a difficult process. Malast hardly engages with him at all. The only subject that is able to spark any continual semblance of interest is that of the other gods. The Primordials.
>
> The boy is immensely curious as to where they have all gone and why, exactly. In the end, however, Malast says that He does not know, but the boy is not sure he believes that. Malast seems to know many things that He should not, yet He never explains how. It is quite frustrating, but what is to be done about it? The man is a god, and the boy is not.
>
> The Urn of Growth, he eventually learns, could change that. He begs Malast to grant it to him, but the Idle God refuses.
>
> “It would turn you to dust,” He says.
>
> The boy is increasingly infuriated by this. If he could only become a god, he thinks, then it would prove his greatness beyond doubt to the other Guong. To Torosh, especially. But no matter what the boy tries or does, Malast continues to refuse him.
>
> And then the Surajj’Byok arrives. The Sludge Sickness.
>
> The Hun’Kui have discovered a terrible weapon to use against the Hun’Sho and are wielding it with malevolent abandon. So many of the boy’s kin are transformed into abominations of nature. Reckless killing machines. Chaos and evil made flesh.
>
> He watches some of the Hun’Kui laugh with demonic madness as the world crumbles around them.
>
> There is nothing worse imaginable, to his mind. He begs Malast for help. He begs Malast for the power of a god, the power to perhaps save his people.
>
> But the Idle God remains exactly so.
>
> This is the Apocalypse of the Hun’Sho.
>
> Himmekel is their only salvation. Without it, everyone in Himmestat would have surely perished. Instead, a few hundred are able to survive.
>
> But the world is forever changed now. The Hun’Sho are on the brink of extinction.
>
> Everything else is meaningless. His squabbles with the other Guong. His treasure. His jealousy. They are all petty nonsense. Only the survival of his kin matters now.
>
> So they hide. They remain quiet. And do nothing. They are immortal, after all. They can be as patient as they like. A time of revival will surely come, if they can simply endure.
>
> The boy takes advantage of the many tools at his disposal to go out and search for other Hun’Sho in secret. Surely, he is not the only Guong who has survived. Indeed, there are others, though they are few, as expected.
>
> And they are broken. They are terrified, just as he is. Some refuse even to speak to him, having grown so paranoid. They do not seem to understand the cause of the Sludge Sickness and think it may be some sort of divine punishment for betraying Avaross’ wishes all those years ago.
>
> Hope is thinner than ever. Even Torosh is wallowing in his failure.
>
> The boy does not know what to do. When he returns to Himmekel, he finds that his subjects do not believe in him any longer. They refuse to acknowledge him as Guong.
>
> Fine.
>
> He does not need them to love him back. He does not need them to cooperate willingly. So the boy disappears from their lives and hides himself away. He uses his tools to watch them, to protect them, to guide them, and yes, to occasionally coerce them. There is too much for him to do alone. His people require more power. More treasure. More magic. And they must help him acquire it.
>
> A delicate balance is achieved in Himmekel. He is all but forgotten there. Only the oldest Hun’Sho remember him now. Only they know of his protection and intention. But that is enough. He is not interested in being Guong again. He is not sure he could even do the job.
>
> Malast has deemed him unsuitable, and perhaps there is truth in that. The boy has been thinking so for quite a while. He wants to do something. He wants to revitalize his people. But how can he? When he has already failed them so thoroughly and repeatedly? What can he do on his own? Gather treasure? To what end? What hope is left, truly?
>
> He does not know the answers to these questions. He does not know how or why he continues on in this way.
>
> He visits the Prime Archivers in Luugh. They are surprised to encounter a living Hun’Sho and are accommodating to him. He uses their resources to conduct his own research into the Primordials and into godhood.
>
> It is a very slow process. He has difficulty with their written languages. The Prime Archivers allow him to come and go as he pleases. He makes sure to reward them for their help.
>
> And then, Ettol appears in Himmekel.
>
> The boy is terrified. Everything will begin to change now. He knows that Ettol’s arrival will bring more outsiders to them. His kin are in danger again. He must take drastic action. Because...
>
> Because he knew that...
>
> He knew...
>
> He knew...?
>
> He...?
The vision faltered. Royo found himself standing exactly where he had been previously, observing the slowed demise of Seyos.
He had so many questions--chief among them being, what in the world had just happened?
He had gotten a broad view of Seyos’ entire life, of course. That much was obvious. What was less apparent, however, was why it had ended so abruptly. It hadn’t felt finished. It felt like it just broke down.
And right after Ettol’s introduction.
Everything was beginning to feel strange now. Royo could sense a shivering change in his slowed perception. And it was slight, but he thought he could see a difference in the speed of everything. His hand was moving more quickly than it had been before. Seyos was falling faster. The information was spilling out of him more rapidly.
It was all still incredibly slow, just not as slow as it was.
And that suggested to Royo that this little slowdown event was going to end soon. Maybe he wouldn’t even need to wait for his hand to reach the Piercing Eye. The whole ordeal could breakdown at any moment.
Before the vision he’d just had, he would’ve considered that a good thing, but now he wasn’t so sure. Seyos was a wellspring of knowledge. There was still so much that Royo could see and learn here.
And perhaps, in spite of himself, he hated Seyos a little bit less now. Not enough to regret killing him, certainly, but Royo found it difficult not to pity him at all.
It was strange.
This was a level of understanding beyond simply knowing what Seyos had been through. Royo felt almost as if he had lived Seyos’ life himself. And this degree of emotional connection...
It was uncomfortable. He didn’t need it clouding his thoughts, right now. He needed to maintain his focus.
Thankfully, that was simple enough. He just had to remind himself that Seyos had tried to kill him, that he would have killed him if Royo hadn’t killed him first.
No amount of emotional thinking could counter that, as far as Royo was concerned.
Still, he didn’t want this to end just yet. He wanted to know more. He needed to.
About Ettol. Maybe the Piercing Eye could tell him something. Even if Seyos’ memories had been tampered with, even if they were in the midst of breaking down during this elongated moment, perhaps there was something to be gained here.
Royo had to try. He demanded more from the Eye. More detail. More anything.
The Eye provided.
Seyos’ knowledge was a mess. It was spreading out everywhere and vanishing into nothingness. So much information, bleeding out in all directions. None of it was coherent enough to formulate a vision like it had before, but Royo could still catch bits and pieces. And then he caught a glimpse of what he wanted.
A meeting between Ettol and Malast.
Words were being spoken in it, but they were incomprehensible. Silhouettes and even faces were being shown in it, but they were distorted and crumbling. Everything was off, like looking through some kind of swirling and cracked window, where even the light on the other side of it was fading away.
But even so, Royo was able to distinguish three things.
The first was that Ettol was not alone. He had a companion with him. A large, monstrous companion. The second, was that Ettol, judging from his skin tone, seemed to be a surface-dweller. But the third and final thing was, by far, what Royo found the most strange.
Ettol had a single horn on his head.