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[>>Now replaying: Log 3.7.8765 - The Logical approach to Death]

Date: Error

Location: The Bunker at Progress’ Head // Zephyro’s Domain

//Elementary, dear Watson.//

//The age of reason is remembered as one of the most glorious times for mankind, but was it truly that good of a time? It’s easy to imagine all of humanity suddenly talking in stilted accents and saying things like “indubitably”, but perhaps it was just a handful of people who were proven right far after their death, while everyone else rolled their eyes at all this ‘science’ nonsZZT&/&!//

[>>DATA CORRUPTED]

E1 %This was the time when she first drew the ire of the Mage Lords%

E2 %This was the time when the first people to rose up against her%

Another building collapsed right next to me, startling me out of my thoughts. I almost got buried under a support pillar, but I dashed aside just in time. A second later it came crashing down right where I had been standing. The quick dive had saved me, but it also left my face buried in dust and sand. I cursed and turned over as fast as I could, checking for more danger. There was little left of the building but rubble and twisted steel.

Inside the ruin, were a handful of strange blue blocks. They glowed with a bright cyan light, a stark contrast to the fire surrounding them. As I watched, they started tumbling towards the gate as if pulled by an invisible force.

But wait, it didn’t matter what this stuff was. If Zephyro used this energy to give himself combat armor, and these red assholes could use it to become more dangerous, then so could I!

As one of the cubes rolled by, I reached out and snatched it. It felt warm and inviting, like a palm-sized campfire. The feeling was familiar, like a memory of a better time half-forgotten. A distant echo of my Wish, muted as if heard underwater. If this was a knockoff, it was a damn good one, but I didn’t have time to go down that rabbit hole again.

With a practiced mental gesture, I tried to command the energy to move into a splintered beam nearby, but nothing happened. I tried willing it to advance my avatar. Again, nothing. The space within me that held my Wish remained vast and empty. I jammed the handle of the scepter into the pit of my arm to hold the cube with both hands, trying to twist it open.

Zero success.

Fuck! I slammed it against the floor, and that did as much as I expected; Nothing.

I looked up and noticed Zephyro running toward me. He motioned behind me, toward a small alleyway between a smithy and a grocer. I rose to my feet, pushing my frustration aside and the cube into my robes, and started running.

A glance over my shoulder showed the first red figure strolling into melee range of the militia.

It started reaping them like stalks of wheat.

Blue sparks shot everywhere, hanging in the air like mist before being sucked toward the red figures. They grew in complexity, their weapons gaining wicked edges.

“What are you doing?” I yelled at Zephyro when he caught up. Stopping for a second, I pointed at the mess of blue sparks and red reapers. “Why aren’t you fighting? I thought this was your Domain?!”

“It is, Sultana, but it is more important than anything else to get you to the Palace, and—“

“Why? How can that be more important?”

“Because you need to claim the Throne, Sultana. You need to be ready to rule.”

“Alright, but that will take us hours at the very least! We won’t make it there if these assholes are hunting us throughout the city! Why can’t you go back and kill them while they are still weak?”

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“Because I can not beat them, Sultana!” he yelled.

We stared at each other, both panting.

“At least get back there and absorb the Essence before they can, or else they’ll catch up for sure!” I said through gritted teeth.

He looked stricken, his shoulders sinking. “But Sultana, to take more of your Blessing than what is freely given is a grave sin, I—“

“Fuck Sin!” I said, but pushed him into another side street to break line of sight to the enemy. We couldn’t have this argument out in the open. I peeked around the corner and saw a glimpse of another red figure entering the battlefield, holding a rifle.

“This is war, Zephyro! You can’t give just let them have free power-ups!”

“But Sultana,” he said, stopping at the entrance to the alleyway. His voice was thin, brittle. I knew that tone. He was close to breaking.

“What?”

“…Those are my people. How can you ask me to consume the Essence of my people?”

He wasn’t thinking rationally.

But was I?

> Sam, you can’t treat people like this. They’re hurting, and you just hurt them more.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to banish the memory of Patti, and how she’d looked at me. Full of remorse, full of hope that I could still be better. I had disappointed her, of course. Had disappointed all twelve of them.

This was not the time. If I lost myself in those days, I’d fall apart again. I couldn’t. Not now, or ever. So I pushed the thoughts aside and focused on what needed to be done.

Zephyro was grimacing, wincing at every sound. He was probably still connected to the soldiers at the square.

One thing I learned far too late in my career as an IT manager was that often, insurmountable problems were just incorrectly framed challenges. Most of the time, we make finding a solution harder on ourselves by focusing on the wrong things. Most people do it because they’re stupid or lazy, or because—

> They’re scared, Sam. People like to focus on what they’re scared of, whether they know it or not.

> As do you, by the way.

>

> Because you are weak.

Fuck that, no. No! I did not like to think about what I am scared of, it never fucking helped, and fuck you, you’re dead. Fuck.

“Zephyro, listen to me,” I said, meeting his eyes and putting a dash of that unending tension in my chest into my stare. It helped a little.

“You can either take their Blessing, or you can let these fuckers do it. What will it be?”

Zephyro did not answer. For what felt like a small eternity, he just stood there as the city burned around us and the sounds of battle grew louder. Someone screamed, and he flinched. His form shuddered, distorted, and re-settled. Wordlessly, he reached behind him and a flash of blue brightened the burning square. Then, a thin stream of cyan flowed into his outstretched hand, forming a blue cube that disappeared a moment later.

The sounds of fighting stopped.

“I will leave the buildings standing, Sultana.” He started walking.

He didn’t look at me. I wouldn’t have looked at me either. God, but I had been such a bitch. I needed to do better, somehow.

But how?

“By your grace and if God is willing, the enemy will spend some time salvaging the structures and won’t proceed deeper into the city until they are done.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” I asked. I sounded gentler, to my relief. I wondered if I should maybe apologize, but before I could speak, Zephyro already answered.

“To them, there is no rush, for they know we can not escape, and I do not believe they know of your secret. Perhaps they don’t even know about your Palace. One can see it in my Domain, true, but the Shackled don’t communicate back to their masters. Most importantly, however, they also do not know about the Ferals, so they think their time is infinite, the fools.”

“What? Who are the Shackled? What Ferals?” I fell into step beside him, but I still felt like I was just barely catching up all the time. It was infuriating. I tried to grab his shoulder, but he glitched out of my grasp and kept walking.

How dare he—My anger flared. It cost me all I had to keep it down, and I worried that I might already have overdone it, that I couldn’t stop myself

“Zephyro hold the f—” I yelled, then corrected myself, forcing my voice to be even, calm. “Zephyro, please wait.”

And he stopped. His hand rested on the pommel of his sword.

“Tell me what’s going on,” I continued. “Right now. No sidetracking, no mysticism.”

I noticed how harsh I sounded, so I added: “…and then tell me how I can help.”

He still wasn’t looking at me, eyes locked on the palace that towered over the rooftops ahead. We found ourselves in a dark alley, and while the alarm bells had never stopped tolling, they seemed more distant now. The cool shade and muffled sounds gave a treacherous feeling of safety.

“We do not have long, but you are right, Sultana. I need to show you what happened, so you are prepared,” he said, still staring ahead.

“Prepared for what, Zephyro?” I was close to losing my patience again but forced myself to stop. It was hard. Harder than it should be, and that edge definitely sank deep into my words.

“Must you torment me so, Sultana?!” Zephyro burst out, finally whirling to face me. He was crying.

“I pledged my life to you, and have kept you safe since the moment I first formed a single thought. And now you are awake, which is a joy that I thank Heaven for with every vibration of my core, but do you not understand that my people are dying for you to be alive?

“Perhaps you can not possibly know what it means to see your friends and family fall like wheat and flee at the sight, because you are unable to render any help. But still, can you not trust me? Have I given you any reason to doubt my word?

“Must you stop and ask me at every opportunity, when I am carrying the weight of what will and must happen to keep you safe, and it is like a millstone on my shoulders?”

I weathered his teary stare. His frustration washed over me, and I let it. I deserved it, no matter how bad it made me feel.

But even under all the self-reproach, I knew he still hadn’t answered my question.

Ever since I had opened my eyes in Zephyro’s domain, all I had gotten were vague clues and omens. Every answer I got raised three more questions. And then, when I finally had gotten enough of a grip to know what questions were really important and demanded my fair share of answers, he started treating me like an ungrateful child. I knew that I should have stayed calm, looked at things logically. I knew that we were in danger, and having a standup meeting wasn’t high on the backlog. I was just so very fucking done with being carted around with no power over my own fate.

> Who do you want to be, Sam?

I sighed. None of that was his problem. But it was so very hard to not give in to the anger I had woken.

I wanted to tell him exactly how much I knew about loss and sacrifice. I wanted to get up into his personal space, put a finger to his chest, and draw a clear line.

For a split second, the urge to just do it was overpowering. It would keep me safe, my anger whispered.

> Who is the wielder, and who is the tool?

I groaned angrily, rubbing my face with both hands.

The scepter, still stuck under my arm and half-forgotten, came free and clattered onto the dusty street.