Mezir was flabbergasted. Not only had Ta’K reiterated his own misery at the hand of Lord White to each of them spread about the crater in but a fraction of a moment- He had shared all their stories. Their minds were connected for the briefest second and they had all seeped into one another. Mezir saw what conflicted them all. He saw the events that had broken them, through their own eyes. As if he was them.

Mezir became Ragoth first and suffered through days of continuous torture without ever having been touched. He saw Lord White pacing back and forth in some sickening worry as his- no, Ragoth’s- body burned like a husk of lit coal. Mezir felt the chains pinning Ragoth to the chair as Lord White siphoned memories from the poor boy, implanted his own; leaving only enough for Ragoth to remember that something was wrong. Different. It had been two years before Ragoth ever considered that he wasn’t Mezir De Blancana. The flood gates had opened then, ravaging his mind. They had never ceased. Mezir felt Ragoth’s conflicting desires to be a good “son” to Lord White while helping Mezir to achieve his goal- which was ultimately to kill White.

Then he jumped into the mind and body of Helena Seires. Mezir remembered hearing about her induction to Stroma Labs when he led his hopeful band of rebels to the Ta’ Lands. He’d known it was a ploy for something then, told his soldiers such as a matter of fact; but… Mezir had been wholly unaware of how awful of a ploy it was. As Helena Seires the truth to his father's ambitions, at least in regards to Stroma Labs, was revealed in entirety. He only lived through one night as Helena but it was more than enough. All that night told him about the young woman was that she was damn brilliant and- wholeheartedly in love with a bashfully ignorant Ragoth. Helena’s dainty hands were scribbling down notes on a thick piece of parchment, theorizing something or another about Noctra’s past based on what she and Ragoth had found together when looking at ancient layers of the planet's mantle. She kept breaking from her work to give the spindly boy quaint smiles, unable to resist as he passionately spoke to the implications of their findings. Helena hoped that soon enough her affections would at least be noticed, if not reciprocated. Ragoth had looked at her, a wide smile planted on his own face, “What?” Before she could answer, Helena Series was bathed in fire.

An explosion tore through their labs and swept away everything. Everyone. Except for the lab's foundations. She had been bound to die. Her limbs were all a mangled mess. Her jaw hung on one side, completely torn from her lovely round cheeks, painfully bobbing. Helena couldn’t crawl or speak. She was resigned to the ash that fell on top of her mutilated form- but White didn’t let that happen. Lord White strode through the wreckage towards her and young Helena was unable to fathom why he was there. Mezir knew why. Mezir knew he decimated the labs. It didn’t matter. Knowing changed nothing. Through the eyes of a dying Helena, he witnessed her forced transformation into the Alta woman, Heria. He felt every agonizing second as Lord White, his father, crudely torn into the body that belonged to Helena.

White worked with little precision, little care, as he hacked and ripped the mangled limbs from her body. He didn’t even bother to cast to slow her bleeding or dull her pain. But he spoke. The entire time. Prattled on and on about how she would get to live out the rest of her days serving and protecting Ragoth. Bragging about his own generosity. Mercifully, she had passed out at some point and escaped the remaining horrors White committed on her person. When she awoke all she could remember was her name. It didn’t fit the monstrous form she saw before her in her bed chamber’s mirror so she changed it to Heria. Surprisingly enough, everyone else had known without her telling them.

Mezir was ripped from Helena’s tragic end and “rebirth” only to be tossed into a tiny, frail body. It took him a moment to realize that the world around him was massive, everything towered before him. But then the woman came. She came and told him that his name was Korrin. Little baby Korrin? Little, sweet, silly Korrin with the beautifully mismatched eyes who his father had said was found abandoned in the streets near a burning estate. Korrin showed Mezir the truth. It was nearly too much to handle. He was learning all over again how truly heinous his father could be in pursuit of his goals. Korrin’s view ended with blackness.

Mezir was sure he knew what would have come next. Just another broken mind. Just?

The darkness began to steadily fade, ebbing in and out to bright scenes of what looked to Mezir to be paradise. Every flash of sight offered him an intimate tour of the once deified Ta’ Lands. The Land of the Venerable. Thick, lush, brightly spotted forests intermingled with homes of all shapes and sizes; some had even made homes higher up in the massive wildertrees. All of the homes looked entirely natural. The land around had been guided with essence to form their abodes. Roots and branches, swathes of dirt and stone, all spun about each other in an eternal dance to form strong, mystical structures frozen in an endless season of warmth and beauty. There were millions of Ta’, thousands of tribes, lifestyles, abodes, and practices. But they were all peaceful, lovely, in their foundations. They were united in their beliefs about the sanctity of life. Of Nocta and all of her children. Mezir realized these images must have been from Ta’K’s journey across his homelands. A journey made by all young Ta’ when their families deemed them ready. It seemed Ta’K’s father had thought highly of him and his elder brother, for the memories included each boy walking together on a journey that was meant to signify their first steps into adulthood. A journey neither would’ve taken so early had they not been the sons of Ta’ Uma, Mezir imagined; though they both seemed more than skilled enough to have earned the right. He saw them hunt, build, cast, fish, and heal like professionals that were many centuries older than the boys. Centuries older, though not any less vivacious. Ta’ weren’t considered elderly until a natural eight hundred years or so if Meizi remembered correctly. He almost always did.

Once more he witnessed the death of Ta’Jir through Ta’K’s young eyes but this time there was more. Mezir became the boy for just a while longer than before and lived through his journey to the mines. It was a dark journey, blindfolded in the back of some small cart. His small hands bound behind his back with a chain that burned his skin- draining his essence- Mezir could feel it suck the literal life out of the boy. A tactic to save Lord White some time to plan before his escape, no doubt. When they reached the mines his escorts threw him to his knees, unbound his hand, and threw Ta’K over a smooth stone smeared in an old, dry red. It made the rock appear naturally crimson for there was no gap in the color. There, they stretched his hands over the stone. There, they took them with one swing from a long blade. One soldier held a blade heated with essence gathered from flame and cauterized the woods closed.

The young boy’s vision went dark and for a moment Mezir was in himself. But that moment passed. He wasn’t done quite yet.

Life flashed before his eyes, quicker than before, less detailed. But he knew who it belonged to, he’d been present for a good chunk of it. Patri’s weaker supply of essence seemed to mean a weaker connection, though the memories were no less impactful for it. His father’s death and following dishonor. His mother’s swift, selfish exit left her only child at the mercy of thieves and vagrants. Surrounded by Lords and Legends that leave a thousand dead children in their wake. Patri had survived as long as he had due to his considerable charm and skill- and not in the least, a bit of luck.

The last few bits of Patri’s were from the years Mezir was absent and what little he saw was hardly discernible… though he could feel everything the man had. Blindly assaulted by Patri’s emotions he came to understand that Patri really was in love with that woman- Senfe! Mezir had a nagging feeling when he saw one clear image of her face from Patri’s essence. The eyes… they didn’t look quite right.

Then, Mezir was himself- mostly. The emotions and thoughts of the others still swarmed through him, breaking his focus, sending him into awful sobs along with everyone else. He ran into the group hug and reveled in it for a moment before his mind had fully cleared and then it was like an alarm ringing in his ears.

Mezir didn’t see anything from Amberosin, which he expected. Using essence effect that girl directly was damn near impossible, or had been for him when he tried healing her. He was sure Ta’K used up a considerable amount of energy healing her before. It should’ve been impossible but he knew that boy was nothing to be scoffed at. What had his mind ablaze was that there were two others missing from their connection; Lili-Bon, who may have been left out because she was unconscious he supposed… but the second was much more concerning to him.

Senfe? When did she run off?

Mezir peeked around as Amberosin moved in close to Ta’K. He couldn’t see the woman anywhere, though her face was burned into his mind, consuming his thoughts.

What was wrong with her eyes?

There was nothing behind Amberosin save for a steep cliff that jutted out of the land like an inverted pockmark of stone grey against the vibrant greens of the Wilders. He saw no sign of movement or obtrusion from where they had come, situated behind Patri and Ta’K. Far behind Patri, however, not yet even in the clearing, was a slender shadow. Mezir willed the essence of light around him, in which there was no short supply thanks to the luminous moons above, and cast it to his eyes. All the shadows of the distant wilders lit up with near painful intensity.

Standing there, as Mezir expected, was a slim, beautiful woman with bouncing girls of black hair and glaringly white eyes. Just like his own.

Senfe flashed out of his sight in an instant. He couldn’t track her without his mask, only barely able to make out the trail of dust that shot up behind her.

Mezir knew where she was headed. The real question that sat upon his mind would have an answer one way or another in just a moment.

Am I fast enough to stop her?

He’d just released his embrace on Amberosin, Ta’K, and the others when he felt a sensation he was no stranger to.

A piercing cold, born of steel, like a rod of ice that burned through straight through his right thigh. There, sticking up out of his leg, straight as a perfect arrow shaft, was a blade of pure obsidian.

Lili-Bon’s hand was wrapped about the hilt.

***

When she’d first opened the notebook from Lord White she was happily surprised to have found a letter addressed directly to her. Written in her Lord’s beautiful hand.

Dearest Lili-Bon,

I find myself conflicted over events that are now to come, for certain. I am not confident enough in my own temperament as of late to state these things to you in person, for the confusion and pain on your face would surely devastate my already waning heart. I will be brief, sweet girl, for I know your heart must be pounding my now, your routine has undoubtedly already been shattered by my premeditated intrusion. I am sorry for that. I am sorry for a great many things… least of all the things I am sorry for is…. Lili. I will be dead within the next five years. I am not rueful about it, no, quite the opposite actually. I look forward to the day these tortuous games are over. Knowing I have done my part, and much more. I cannot write out all my plans or goals, all my reasonings or explanations, so I will not attempt to do so. I write this letter to you in hopes that you will help me to bring lasting peace to these lands before I am to disappear, to fade into ash as we all do. I am rueful, however, about the fact that I will be leaving you behind in a world not quite stable on its own footing. I will explain all that I can in the days to come but for now, I need you to do what you always have. Trust me. Trust that what I ask of you is best. I need you to take the knife stored in the back of this book's binding, take its obsidian blade, and force it through my son's leg. Mezir’s. Not the one you’ve known for the past few years, but the one that will save you in four days' time. You will be in no real danger, but your fear will be real, it must be, for Mezir to fall prey to our machinations. Feign a deep slumber until you smell the distinct smell of cinnamon. And strike. Then run, Lili-Bon, run until you are back in the safety of the estate. On that night, we shall be enacting a second war for Noctra. And we will appear to lose, my dear Lili, but know that in the end… in the end, all will be right.

Love and sincerity,

Lord White.

Lili-Bon had been dizzy by the time she finished his letter but even as she still read, she already knew her decision. The logical choice, as ever, was to side with her trusted, powerful Lord White. And so she had. Lili had feigned sleep, carried by Mezir the whole way. At first her emotions from casting made her conflicted but as she held the dagger close to her skin, keeping it hidden just under her left breast, knowing Mezir would never dare touch her there. Would never be suspicious of his dear Lili-Bonnet.

When she smelled cinnamon, she struck. Just as instructed.

She drove the completely black dagger into the leg of a man that used to be a boy who set her chest ablaze. A boy who had been kind and honest. A man who had betrayed his father, his people, and disappeared for over a decade. Her emotional shock had settled and cold logic told Lili-Bon that running directly behind Mezir was safest. The blood on the side of her hands meant nothing. The fierce cry from Mezir meant nothing. All that mattered was that she got back to the one person who had ever believed in her.

Her omnipotent Lord White.