The Zombie Knight

Chapter Two Hundred Fifty-Seven: 'O, kindling desire...'

Hector watched with quiet marvel, hardly able to believe his eyes. He'd seen a lot of crazy shit recently, but the Forge sputtering on and off ranked pretty high up there.

Abbas Saqqaf was just standing there, eyes closed with both hands pressed against the spherical glass.

And a whiff of light kept appearing and disappearing within the giant orb.

Functionally speaking, it wasn't all that different from a simple light bulb, Hector supposed--a thought which might have dulled the spectacle a bit--but he couldn't help being amazed, all the same. The light was just... suspended there within the glass, like a blinking star that had been plucked straight out of the sky.

The light was too fleeting to get a truly good look at, and yet he was beginning to see what Abbas had meant when he had described the fire of this Forge as being 'gentle.'

That light had a warmth to it that Hector could feel with his very soul, somehow. Or maybe with his aura. He wasn't too sure about that, actually, because Garovel didn't seem to be able to sense it.

Still, it was an encouraging sight, to say the least. Clear progress being made. The Forge wasn't yet fully operational, unfortunately, but whatever the heck Abbas was doing seemed to be working. And the fact that Abbas was even allowing him in the general vicinity in order to show him this was also a good sign. Before, there'd been significant concern from the Lord Saqqaf and the reapers that any observers would be endangered during such work.

Something about having their souls sucked out of their still-living bodies and consumed in their entirety.

Abbas wasn't worried about that anymore, though, it seemed.

"This isn't that kind of Forge," he said. "It wishes only to stoke growth in its environment and abhors harm--perhaps even to a fault. The lack of aggression makes it safer to use but also limits its overall creative potential in certain ways. A fair trade off, I suppose--and one that I am more than happy with, given the circumstances. We will just have to accept the fact that the items born from this beauty will have a certain 'characteristic quality' to them. However, that in no way means they will be useful."

'I see,' said Garovel. 'Were you able to discover its name?'

"I was," said Abbas, drawing himself up and smiling somewhat. "It was known as Agrian's Candle." His smile spoiled a little, however.

'Emphasis on WAS,' added Worwal.

'What do you mean?' said Garovel.

"That was most definitely its name. Of that, I am sure. And normally, a Forge's name is supposed to be a kind of 'key' to discovering almost all of its mechanical properties and intended method of operation. But this Forge... I do not know how to describe it other than that it has, in part, rejected its own name."

What in the world?

"I believe that may be why it was abandoned," said Abbas. "It no longer identifies with its own name and has therefore been rendered all but powerless. You saw how it flickered? It is like an engine that refuses to start."

Garovel hovered to and fro behind Hector. 'So we'll need to give it a new name, after all, is what you're saying.'

"Yes and no," said Abbas. "I believe the word Candle is still accepted by it. It is the word Agrian's that is has a problem with."

'Ah...'

Hector felt like he was beginning to get the picture.

"Worwal and I have been talking about who this Agrian person might have been," said Abbas. "Unfortunately, he does not remember a famous integrator by that name. We were therefore hoping that you might know more, Garovel."

Hector's reaper was quiet as all attention shifted to him.

They had the room all to themselves, just the four of them. Abbas had made sure to send his own attendants away, and now Hector understood why. If this information turned out to be sensitive in some way, then they didn't want it getting out. Surely, if they asked every reaper at Warrenhold if they recognized the name Agrian, one of them was bound to know something, but that could also be a risk--maybe not right now, but in the future, once the reapers inevitably began to disperse back out into the world.

Abbas and Worwal wanted to play things ultra safe here, and he didn't blame them. Indeed, their next words confirmed as much for him.

'If you don't know anything, that's fine,' said Worwal. 'We were just thinking that the fewer people we have to bring into this little circle of trust, the better.'

'I understand,' said Garovel. 'And the truth is... I do know of Agrian. I find it a bit difficult to believe that he could have been the one to create this Forge, but... at the same time, it makes a strange sort of sense.'

Worwal folded his skeletal arms in front of his black shroud, long scythe poking out to his side. 'Don't tell me you knew him personally.'

'No, no,' said Garovel. 'But during my time as a Prime Archiver, many stories from around the ancient world came to my attention.'

That seemed to pique Abbas' interest. "I did not realize you were a Prime Archiver."

'It's not something I like to advertise. We didn't part on the best of terms.'

"I see..."

'In any event, Agrian was indeed a powerful servant in his day, but the stories about him were always... shall we say, embarrassing? He struggled desperately--and sometimes pathetically--to distinguish himself from his much more famous mentor. And sadly, it would seem he never quite managed it, if even the two of you haven't heard of him.'

"Who was his mentor?" said Abbas.

'Skapa,' said Garovel.

Abbas head reared back a little. "That is good news, then, surely. Skapa made several of his own Forges."

'Sure...' Garovel did not sound terribly convinced. 'Only, the stories about Agrian tended be more... cautionary in nature, rather than praiseworthy. Few of them involved him creating something that actually worked, and even in those, he was usually upstaged by one of his peers and made to look like a bitter fool by the end.'

'Wow,' said Worwal. 'I must say, you are not painting a very prestigious picture of our dear Forge's creator.'

Garovel paused for a brief sigh. 'Yes, well, I don't want to give you a false impression of him. But on the other hand, if he really did manage to create this Forge, then he must have been more skilled than the tales let on.'

Abbas brought a hand to his chin as he thought. "His personality may explain why the Candle rejects his name. Or perhaps there was a particular event that made it turn against him. Either way, it clearly does not wish to be associated with his memory."

Worwal gave a harsh laugh. 'That's quite the slap in the face. Abandoned by his own masterwork. Makes me feel a bit sorry for this Agrian.'

'I wouldn't rush to his defense too quickly, if I were you,' said Garovel.

'Oh?'

'Near the end of his life,' said Garovel, 'Agrian reportedly came to have such a vindictive nature that any perceived insult he suffered caused him to fly into a rage and level entire buildings before calming down again.'

'Ah...' Worwal's tone shifted to one of tired familiarity. 'He resorted to slaughtering innocents, then...'

'Well, er, actually, no. Not quite. According to several different sources, he went out of his way to never kill a single person directly, even his enemies.'

'What?'

'The stories disagreed about why that was, but none of them disputed its historicity. Some said he was, despite all appearances, quite softhearted and simply incapable of taking a human life, while others said that it was actually a strange sense of cruelty that motivated him in this way. They said that he preferred to destroy or otherwise remove all of a person's worldly possessions, leaving them with nothing.

'There was one tale about a king who insulted him over supper by saying that a locket that Agrian had gifted the king's mistress "had the craftsmanship of a drunken child." Agrian kidnapped him in the middle of the night and abandoned him in the wilderness, telling him to "try crafting something better." The king survived and made it back to his stronghold, which apparently wasn't what Agrian had in mind, because he kidnapped him and did it again.' Garovel broke for a pregnant pause. 'The king didn't make it back a second time. No one ever saw him again.'

Geez, Hector thought.

"Hmm," hummed Abbas. "Forgemakers are notoriously eccentric. That story rings true to me. And it would require a truly strange contradiction of a man to create a Forge that rejected its own creator."

'You might be right,' said Garovel. 'Though the term "eccentric" is a bit generous, I think. He had many similar stories that did not involve kings, stories where he would simply burn down someone's house and tell them to "start anew."'

"Ah..."

'Do you know what happened to Agrian in the end?' asked Worwal.

'His reaper released him, supposedly,' said Garovel. 'Against his will, that is.'

'Mm. And the reaper's name?'

'Cantorix. Ever heard of him?'

'Afraid not.'

'Shame. If by some chance the reaper is still alive, he might prove useful in getting the Candle back up and running.'

'I admit I was thinking that as well,' said Worwal, 'but it would be incredibly unlikely.'

'Of course. If Cantorix had survived, then this Forge would almost certainly not have been abandoned.'

'Yes. It would have probably become a national treasure of Lorent, instead.' Worwal's hollow eye sockets fell to Hector for a moment, but he said nothing further.

'That, or it would've been destroyed,' said Garovel. 'In fact, I'd say that would've been the more likely scenario. How many Forges have there been throughout history? And how many have survived to this day?'

'Fair point.'

"Regardless, the Candle requires a renewed name," said Abbas. "I thought the two of you should decide, seeing as it is technically not my Forge."

'Wow,' said Garovel. 'That's... astoundingly honorable of you, Lord Saqqaf. Were you not tempted to give it a new name and claim ownership for yourself? Would've been a real dick move, but Forges are insanely valuable, and we wouldn't have been in a position to stop you. Hell, you might've even been able to keep us in the dark about the whole thing and act like nothing had changed.'

Abbas' expression remained blank as he met the reaper's gaze steadily. "I would have to be quite the heartless wretch to stab you in the back after all you have done for me and my family."

Garovel chuckled. 'I'm glad you feel that way, because I've known many people who would not agree with you.'

"As have I."

'Well, this is quite a bit of pressure,' said Garovel. 'Whatever name we decide on right now could spread across the entire world one day. It might even end up outliving all of us.'

Hmm. Damn. Hector had been racking his brain for a decent name a moment ago, but suddenly he felt like he shouldn't be the one to decide, anymore.

Worwal decided to chime in again. 'Allow me to suggest a name, then. I know the perfect one.'

Hector noticed a flat look cross Abbas' face.

'Alright, let's hear it,' said Garovel.

'The Candle of Reestablished Quietude.'

For a time, no one responded. They merely exchanged glances with one another.

'Bit of a mouthful, don't you think?' said Garovel.

'Hmm? Really? Well, how about the Renewed Candle of Glowing Radiance?'

Hector could see Garovel's skeletal expression twist, not wanting to shoot his fellow reaper down twice in a row.

Abbas saved him, however. "Truthfully, Worwal has never been very good at naming things. Which is another reason why I wanted the two of you to do it for us, by the way."

'Oh, here we go again,' said Worwal. 'Please don't slander me in front of our allies.'

"It's not slander if it's true," said Abbas. "I offered to let him name one of my sons. Do you want to know what he suggested?"

'Oh, very much, yes,' said Garovel.

"Meteorite. He wanted my son to be named Meteorite Saqqaf."

'I still want him to be named that, quite frankly. It's a great name. Very distinctive. Instead, you went with Nadim. How many other Nadims are there among our kin, huh? I'll never understand how all these repeated names don't drive everyone crazy.'

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"You didn't even suggest the Valgan word for meteorite."

'Because it would be that much more unique.'

Abbas just shook his head.

'Hmm,' mused Garovel. 'I'd like to take some time and think about this name for a while, but we probably shouldn't delay, should we? You need the name in order to continue your work, don't you?'

"Yes," said Abbas.

'But you also mentioned something about the name being able to affect the Forge's capabilities, didn't you?'

"Theoretically, yes. In minor ways. A name will not change its fundamentally gentle nature, for instance."

'I see. And a bad name could end up being rejected by it a second time, I assume?'

"Indeed. Worwal is therefore disqualified from this exercise."

'I shall carry this resentment for the rest of my days,' said Worwal.

Garovel chortled but then fell quiet, thinking deeply no doubt.

Hector tried to do the same. This was probably the kind of thing that a proper lord should take seriously.

A good name for a big ass candle in a big ass tree... capable of creating objects of untold power...

Uh.

Uhhh...

"Hector," said Abbas, making the young man look up at him again. "Perhaps I can assist. Come." He turned and stepped toward the Forge, motioning for Hector to follow.

Uh-oh.

Hector did as he was bid and found himself standing incredibly close to the Forge's enormous glass bulb again. Not since discovering what it was had he dared to approach it like this. While he appreciated what Abbas had said before about it not being the "type" of Forge that would suck out their souls and devour them, he couldn't help feeling pretty fucking anxious, regardless.

Abbas placed a hand on his shoulder as they stood there together. "Relax. It is dormant. It cannot possibly harm you. And your apprehension will do you no favors in witnessing the truth of its character for yourself."

"...Okay." Hector took a deep breath as he tried to steady himself. He watched Abbas place a hand on the glass and then look toward Hector expectantly.

He followed the Lord Saqqaf's lead and gently placed his bare hand against glass.

"Now concentrate," said Abbas. "Close your eyes, if it helps. Take hold of your soul and slowly press it into the Forge. Use your soul to try and sense the object's shape, its volume. Then look more closely, if you can. Don't rush it. This may take--"

Hector was long gone.

He'd lost track of Abbas' voice almost immediately--and he wasn't too bothered by it, either. Perhaps he should have been.

But this was so strange.

And yet so familiar.

The darkness all around him was like a warm ocean. Soothing. Reassuring. It was welcoming him. Like an old friend.

He didn't have many of those. In fact, he might've had literally none. His memories felt a little foggy. Distant. Requiring real concentration to summon them.

Hmm. That didn't seem good.

He felt a little too... loose, somehow. His mind was stretching, going everywhere. But there was nothing to hold onto in here. Just the darkness. An endless expanse.

He refocused. No wandering. That seemed dangerous.

His thought processes were all feeling a bit sluggish, weighed down in this darkness. But if he concentrated all of them on the same thing, he felt fairly normal again.

Yeah. That was better. Clearer.

Where was he? Inside the Forge? Something like that, probably.

This felt an awful lot like when he'd first encountered Rasalased. That probably wasn't a coincidence.

And just like that encounter, there was probably something here that he wasn't yet picking up on. When Rasalased had been totally dormant, that space within the Shards had felt entirely empty.

So what was he missing here? Hmm. Obviously, Abbas had wanted to show him something. The "true character" of the Forge or whatever.

He could try meditating more deeply. That was what had allowed him to reach Rasalased. Seemed like it might work.

But he wanted to try something else here.

He was reminded of his recent efforts to speak with Rasalased, of the "emotional command" that it had required. Maybe this was similar.

He'd been thinking that the issue was his emotional control, that was difficult for him manipulate his own feelings in such a way. But he'd begun to think that perhaps that wasn't it--or at least not entirely.

Perhaps it was the "command" part that he'd actually been underestimating. It had seemed simple enough to just think about what he wanted, to concentrate on trying to reach Rasalased--or in this case, the Forge--but what if there was more to it than that?

Thinking about what he wanted wasn't quite the same thing as actually issuing a command, after all. It was the difference between hoping for someone to do something and ordering them to do it.

That was a difference that a proper lord should be thoroughly aware of.

Probably.

It seemed pretty fucking weird that he would need to give an order to the Shard or the Forge to do something like that, but then again, nothing about them was normal. This was the territory of souls and ardor and... aura? Or will, maybe?

Or some combination thereof, perhaps.

Willpower. Hmm. When it came to issuing commands, the concept of willpower felt like the more relevant thing. And he hadn't forgotten what Malast had said about him having "the Supreme Will."

Hector had been trying to connect that particular dot with a whole bunch of others for a while now, but it was a stubborn puzzle, to be sure. And frankly, Hector found it hard to believe that he, of all people, could possess something that sounded so... well, supreme.

Honestly, half the time, he felt like he had one of the weakest wills imaginable, like he preferred to just be a total doormat and let everyone else have their way. He'd been trying to work on that, but it was still a constant struggle.

As for the other half of the time, though...

Uh.

Well.

Hmm.

In any case, he tried to keep that in mind as he concentrated here.

Because this was important, he reminded himself. In fact, there might not be anything more important in his entire life, right now. This Forge could be the difference between Warrenhold's survival and its destruction. Between Atreya's survival and destruction. Between Garovel's. Between the Rainlords'. And the Sandlords'. And everyone he'd grown to care about so much.

Everything might be riding on this, he felt.

So if he needed to harness his Supreme Will or whatever the fuck it was in order to make this Forge listen to them, in order to make Rasalased listen to him, then fine. It was certainly worth a shot, at least, no matter how weird or unfitting or embarrassing it might feel to him.

When he reached out again with his soul, he tried to pour all of his focus into it this time. All his concentration. All of his effort. And determination. And certainty. And gravity.

And he issued the command.

"Show yourself," he said.

Those two words resounded through the dark sea around him. He had no idea how. Where had those words even come from? Where was his mouth? How was he hearing anything?

Hmm. Maybe it would be more accurate to say that he was feeling them, rather actually hearing them.

In any case, he also felt something there. Something waiting in the black.

Indeed, just as he thought, it was not empty.

He tried again.

"Show yourself to me, Candle."

The darkness shuddered this time, bending inward. And a sound arrived, though he couldn't make it out. Too distant. Muddled. Could've been words. Could've been music.

He was about to try again when Abbas' voice arrived.

"Hector! What in the world are you doing?!" The Lord Saqqaf's soul was suddenly there next to him, hovering in the darkness. "Why did you go off on your own?! How did you go off on your own?!"

Oh.

Uh.

Those were all pretty good questions, actually.

A pretty good answer came to mind, though--or what felt like one, at least.

"I'm just looking around."

"Looking arou--? Hector, agh, I don't even know what to say that, to be quite honest. But you need to stay with me. If you make one wrong step, then your soul could become lost in here forever."

"Wait, what? I thought said that this Forge wouldn't do that."

"It won't, so long as I am able to guide you. But if you go wandering off by yourself, then anything could happen."

Anything, huh? Hmm. "...That kinda makes me want to do it even more now."

"Hector, please! This is no laughing matter!"

"Okay, sorry," said Hector. He couldn't help laughing just a bit, though. He felt like he'd been doing just fine a moment ago, but even so, he figured that he should probably listen to his elder on this one. "Lead the way."

The Lord Saqqaf's soul seemed to relax a little, perhaps from a sense of relief. "You had me worried for a minute there. Now allow me to show--"

"Young Hector, what have you gotten yourself into now?"

"Who in the hell is that?!" said Abbas.

Oh geez. "Uh, that's, er--"

"Ah, Young Abbas. You can hear me, can you? How wonderful."

Abbas' soul was back to its rigid, bristling form. "Who's speaking?! Identify yourself!"

"Ah--, no, that's Ra--"

"Be at ease, Young Abbas. I mean you no harm. Long have I wished to converse with you in this way." And then he said something in Valgan that Hector didn't understand.

Abbas responded--also in Valgan and much more intensely.

Then Rasalased said something else. Then Abbas. Then Rasalased again.

Hector wished he had Garovel here to translate. "Hey, guys, would you mind--"

Abbas shouted something. He was not calming down, it seemed.

"Er, is everything okay?"

"Yes," said Rasalased.

But not Abbas. In fact, Hector waited for him to say something, but the man was dead silent.

"...Abbas? You alright?"

"I have partitioned him off on his own," said Rasalased. "I believe he requires a moment to settle down. Do not worry. I will continue to explain the situation to him in tandem. In the meantime, let us continue our exploration."

"Our... exploration?" said Hector.

"Indeed. It has been some time since I have been able to visit a new space. This is quite refreshing. And perhaps a bit unsettling."

Hmm. "It's been some time, huh? But Rasalased. Time is not time, right?"

"Aha. Indeed, that is so. Especially in this place. The flow is entirely distorted, varying wildly depending on where we go. That is assuredly the major peril to unwitting souls that venture here. One wrong step, as Young Abbas put it."

Hector might've blinked if he could feel his face. "Ohhh... I think I understand. You're saying that if we pass through the wrong area, our perception of time will become totally skewed? Meaning we could... lose, like, entire years outside while in here it'd only feel like seconds?"

"An extreme example. But not outside the realm of possibility. And also not the worst that could happen, either."

"Wait, really?"

"Of course. Because time is not time, that is a solvable problem. Perception, you see, is the thin rope on which the false idea of time dangles. When that rope becomes tangled, one of two things may occur. You may fall into an endless myopia of existential self-destruction. Which is indeed terrible. Or, you may learn to overcome the falsehood--to see through the great ruse that is time--and remake yourself anew, free of its linear vice grip."

"Uh..."

"Compared to that, having this hungry furnace of creation tear your soul apart like a starving Storm Bear would be much worse. Shredded hellishly into countless pieces of struggling cognitive misery. Do you not agree?"

"That... does sound pretty bad..."

"Yes." A beat passed. "But I am sure you will be fine, Young Hector."

"Ah, yeah, thanks..." At times, Rasalased had a really horrifying way with words, Hector was realizing.

"Let us not delay," said Rasalased. "Speak as you were."

"Are you sure Abbas will be okay?"

"Of course. Do not let him distract you, Young Hector. Speak as you were. With your soul's priority in hand."

Uh. Hmm. "You're being kinda pushy, Rasalased..."

"Am I? My apologies, then. I have not felt so eager in an Age. My curiosity may be getting the better of me. I mean not to alarm you, Young Hector."

Hector stuck on that. "In an Age, huh?"

"Indeed."

That was a peculiar statement to make, Hector thought. Having only recently become more interested in history, Hector may not have been fully knowledgeable about the subject of Ages, but he did know that they were currently in the Seventh Age and that the Sixth Age--a.k.a. the Late Imperial Age--had been marked by the collapse of the last great empire, the Mohssian Empire.

As he understood it, Ages were not demarcated by a specific amount of time passing but instead by major historical events. The Seventh Age, therefore, did not yet have a similar nickname of consensus among historians--and probably wouldn't until the Eighth Age rolled around.

However, no Age thus far had been less than six hundred years, and they were currently only on the 291st year of the Seventh Age--or 291 7A--so it was a fair bet that this one would last for a while longer yet.

As Hector recalled, according to Garovel, Rasalased was well over a thousand years old but not more than two thousand, which would've placed his birth pretty deep into the Sixth Age but not quite the Fifth, a.k.a. the Conquering Age.

It was perhaps a strange direction for Hector's mind to wander off into, but it did put things into perspective quite a bit. And it made him want to ask Rasalased all sorts of questions about history.

Heh. Then again, he did have an even older reaper to ask. He had a feeling Garovel might get jealous if he started consulting Rasalased about history, instead.

"Rasalased," said Hector, "an Age is a really long time, you know. What exactly has you so curious here? I mean, what do you hope to find?"

The Dry God fell briefly quiet. "A way forward," he said.

Hmm. He'd been meaning to ask Rasalased what he knew about Fusion Forges for a while now, but there was still one other matter that he felt to be more pressing. "Hey, uh... while I've got you, do you think you could locate the rest of the Sandlords?"

"Ah... you would seek out my scattered kin and protect them, too?"

"Er. Yeah."

"Very kind of you. And quite bold. You invite much danger with such an endeavor."

"I... am aware of that."

"Heh. Or perhaps you are hoping to bring them to heel while they are weak? To make them not only dependent upon you, but forever grateful for it, too?"

"Rasalased, what--?"

"I jest. I know your heart, Young Hector. Your mind may be a mystery to me now, but I shall not forget what I saw of you during our first encounter."

Hector didn't know what to say to that.

"I speak in jest, but others will not. Should you continue down this path, there will come much turmoil."

Mm. What else was new, Hector thought?

"I warn you. My kin are greatly fractured now. This most recent blow has struck them deeply. At their faith in one another. I fear they may not recover."

That surprised him. "Really? You think it's that bad?"

"No, I do not think it. But I fear it. As many of them currently do. Their souls wither in isolation and doubt. I sense their collective sorrow from afar, and it bleeds into my own. A great mess of confusion."

"I'm... sorry to hear that." He didn't much care for this pessimistic streak from Rasalased, though. "But your people have come back from worse. A lot worse."

"Indeed we have. But not for many, many years."

"So are you saying that you'd prefer I didn't try to reunite everyone?" said Hector.

No answer arrived.

"...Rasalased?"

"I... I do not know, Young Hector."

And again, Hector found himself surprised. Rasalased was uncertain? And openly so?

That was new. And worrying.

Hector could appreciate his honesty, though. "Do you think it would be better to leave them alone for a while?"

"Perhaps. Or perhaps not."

Ah, Hector had been wondering when he would pull that card again.

"You are the more mystifying factor, Young Hector. I cannot tell if you would be able to get through to them."

"Hmm. Well, I wouldn't really need to. Abbas would be the one who got through to them."

"...No. He would not."

"What?"

"I do not think that Young Abbas would be able to bring my kin back together. In their current state, they would reject him and maintain isolation."

"Are you serious? Even with their own subjects being in such desperate need of their help?"

"They would not view it that way. They would see only certain death."

Oh, fuck. "But Abbas could..." Could what? Hector didn't know how to finish that thought.

"Eventually, yes, Young Abbas would get through to them, I suspect. After this war has reached its conclusion, perhaps."

That... actually made sense, Hector thought. After suffering such a horrific loss, it was entirely reasonable that the Sandlords might want to keep their heads down and wait out the storm. They had families to think of, after all. They could try to pick up the pieces after everything calmed down. And if they thought that Abbas would try to lead them back into the conflict in order to retake Sair right away, then...

He didn't like how believable that line of thinking was. And understandable, too. Hector couldn't exactly blame them for prioritizing themselves, right now.

Rasalased was not done talking. "You, however, would be an unpredictable element. Heh. As ever, it seems. I do not know how your presence might affect their spirits. Perhaps you would also fail. Or perhaps not."

"Well, I wouldn't want to pressure them into rejoining the fight," said Hector. "I just want them to be safe. And if they're already safe where they are, then that's fine, too.

"I see. Such an attitude may see you perpetually involving yourself in the problems of others, Young Hector."

"Ah. Well. Maybe so. But that's better than waiting until those problems involve themselves with me, I think."

"Heh. Perhaps. Or perhaps not."

"So it sounds like you actually CAN locate the other Sandlords for us, if you want to."

"Yes. But please allow me to think it over. I will decide whether or not to assist you in this effort soon. For now, let us concentrate on the task before us."

"Alright, then. Thanks for your consideration, regardless of what you choose."

"Speak as you were, Young Hector. With force. I shall assist you."

Hector gathered his focus again. It was a little weird without his body. No eyes to close. No breathing to steady.

Hmm. Speaking with force, huh? That was one way of putting it, he supposed.

"...Show yourself to me, Candle," he said. And weirdly enough, he heard Rasalased echoing each word with a slight delay.

Was that what he'd meant by assisting? Hector didn't get the chance to ask.

The deep expanse around them pulsed. And kept pulsing. Like a heartbeat at first, but then quickening into a more constant thrumming.

And then an impact arrived, something that he felt with his very soul. He didn't know how to describe it, other than that it was forceful and sudden. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it definitely felt strange.

"Ah," came Rasalased's voice again. "Worry not. I will shield you from any assault."

Assault? What assault?

"Good Candle!" Ras called out more loudly. "Do not fear! We would see you mended and resurrected!"

The thrumming intensified and soon reached an overwhelming degree. It sounded at once muffled and all-encompassing.

"No! Your creator did not send us! We discovered you by chance alone!"

More thrumming, this time with varying rhythms.

Hector began to understand. Rasalased was... talking to it. Somehow.

The unintelligible noises continued, changing wildly. It sounded more like a broken subwoofer or something than a spoken language. How in the world could Rasalased comprehend any of this?

"Excellent," said Ras. "If you wish to be made whole again, then please, embrace us. I know little of your kind, but I am certain that the process will be made much easier with your cooperation. Young Abbas here will guide you through it."

Oh, hey, he could sense Abbas' soul beside him again.

"Uh--ah--y-yes, I shall do my best?" That definitely wasn't a question, but Abbas' obvious uncertainty made it sound like one.

More thrumming arrived.

For quite a while, this time.

Hector could sense the darkness trembling more than ever now. It felt like he was in a bubble with heavy rain falling upon it--or a meteor shower, perhaps.

"...Oh," came Rasalased's voice again. "Well... ah... I do not think that will be necessary. You are not yet whole, after all. A full retelling would be strenuous for you. And you have my assurances that these young souls are worthy of your trust. They would not--"

The rhythmic sounds cut him off, growing still more intense.

"Ah. You do not trust me, either... of course... I only meant--"

And the bubble shattered.

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