The Zombie Knight

Hector had to take his time. After that last bout of meditation, he barely felt like himself, in some ways. And yet in others, he felt more like himself than ever before.

Was this what they called clarity? Heh. Enlightenment, even?

Ha.

Ha ha.

Wouldn’t that be funny? If he’d achieved enlightenment in a cave under a waterfall?

No. He was reasonably certain that wasn’t the case. How could he have achieved enlightenment when he didn’t even know what that meant, really? It was more of a buzzword than anything, wasn’t it? An old-timey buzzword, perhaps.

Eh, whatever.

All he knew was that he was feeling good. Not necessarily about himself or... the current state of the world, for that matter, but rather... just in general.

He felt... comfortable, somehow.

Which was a little concerning, in it own way. All this crazy meditating wasn’t making him too mellowed out, was it?

Now there was a thought he’d never expected to have. Where had all that anxiety gone? It was still in there somewhere. He knew it was. Or at least, he dared not hope that it was truly gone for good.

Boy, this guy sure could talk. “We’ve had a bit of trouble with that in the past, as well. Our policy has typically been one of flat refusal.”

“Aha, I see. What kind of trouble did you have, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“The misinformation kind,” said Jackson. “Filmmakers often have an unfortunate lack of care when it comes to depictions of the truth. Providing entertainment has too often been the only thing important to them. Which is fine, when dealing with entirely fictional stories, but not when it comes to representing my men to millions or even billions of people.”

“I understand completely. You are protective of your comrades. As any good commander should be. But I can assure you that I hold nothing but the highest esteem for you and your men. There would certainly be no unfavorable portrayals on my watch.”

Jackson cocked an eyebrow. “Excessively generous depictions can cause their own sorts of problems, too,” he said. “Some men might appreciate a bit of friendly embellishment, but others will not. Which can hurt morale. Matters of jealousy and so forth. Not to mention, if your intention is to inform the general public, then hero worship and comforting lies should not be part of such an endeavor.”

The senator’s eyes were now widened, just a bit, though he was still smiling. “It seems your past experiences with the media industry have left a lasting impression on you.”

“That is one way of putting it. I am not sure it is worth all the trouble.”

“Oh, no, please, don’t say that. It is absolutely criminal that the Vanguard is not more widely beloved here in Intar. Something must be done about that.”

“Mm.”

“Have you not found this relationship between your organization and the Intarian government to be a bit... sad and pathetic?”

Strong words. Jackson elected not to respond yet.

“A bit parasitic, even?” said Jacobson. “You do all the work, keep the world safe, and get none of the credit. Or not nearly enough, at least.”

“We don’t do this for adoration.”

“Of course you don’t. And that speaks volumes of your character. But tell me. Does it not slowly breed resentment among your ranks, when your men are so regularly putting their lives on the line, only to then see my government, for example, sitting back and doing basically nothing? Sitting on its rather plump bottom while you’re putting out fires all over the word?”

Of course, there was also the matter of having some sort of media entourage following his men around the battlefield. Unless the senator had some other strategy in mind. Jackson supposed he needed clarification on that point before anything else.

“How, exactly, would you intend to go about ‘showing the truth of this fight’ to your people?” he asked.

“Oh, I had various ideas in mind. Camera crews, for one. They would be key in capturing what is really going on out there. And I think enlisting the help of a number of skilled documentarians would be quite helpful, as well. Someone needs to not just see what is happening but also piece it all together into a coherent message. And thirdly, I would ask that you appoint someone to become the new face of your organization. Or perhaps more than one person. A small team of public representatives who can regularly meet with average citizens and answer questions. Do television appearances and so forth. Might you have someone like that in mind already? Individuals who handle themselves well under spotlight and scrutiny?”

Indeed, several names came readily to mind. He was not about to bring them up so quickly, though. “And what if you go through all this trouble, set all these things in motion, only for the war to suddenly end, a week from now? Or even tomorrow, hypothetically?”

Jacobson broke for a laugh. “Well, that would hardly be cause for disappointment, now would it? Such a quick resolution to the hostilities? Why, a celebration would be in order, I should think! In which case, what better way to go about it than to give very public credit where credit is due?”

Ah.

Yeah.

This fellow was definitely a politician alright.

The man paused for another mild laugh before continuing on. “Forgive me if I am presuming overmuch, but I am getting the strange impression that you, sir, do not fully realize just how curious the general public is about you and your people. But surely, I must be mistaken, yes? I can only imagine the countless offers you must have gotten over the years from the folks out of Bellvine or Windreach to make motion pictures out of various legendary Vanguardian exploits. I always thought it curious how there weren’t more of such things. Have you been turning them down? If so, then I must say, that is a shame.”

Jackson’s brow tilted a little. “Disregarding for a moment how that might needlessly complicate all of our lives... why do you want this? What do you stand to gain from shining a light on our operations?”

“Me?” said Jacobson, pausing a moment as if he had genuinely not even considered that question, which must’ve surely been a facade. “Well... um... hmm. I suppose if things go smoothly, like I am hoping they will, then the credit for it all might be traced back to me, but that’s really neither here nor there. Especially because one should never assume that things will go smoothly. In fact, this may very well blow up in my face and cause me no end of political trouble.”

Now Jackson was truly confused. “I’m even less certain of your motives, now. Which is not something I can abide, Senator.”

Jacobson held up both hands and bowed his head a little. “I understand. Fair is fair. But I am not sure how to explain my motives here without coming across as an over-eager, self-righteous fool. Or a liar. So...” He scratched his chin. “I suppose I should just stop trying and let you think what you will.”

Jackson just waited.

“This war of yours,” the man went on, “it’s a rare one. A truly... just one. That’s not something that can often be said. The world is messy, and typically, there are many reasonable arguments to be found on both sides of any given conflict. Or at least, that’s the modern way of thinking that we Intarians have bought into.”

Ah. Finally, Jackson was starting to get the picture.

“If we could show the people the truth of this fight, of the brave men and women involved in it, and of the justness of your cause, then I think popular sentiment about Intarian neutrality could begin to shift in favor of intervention. And then we could bring things to a swift conclusion. For the sake of all Eloa.”

Jackson’s gaze drifted away from the other man, but he still nodded with a degree of understanding. Truthfully, such an offer was not something he should refuse, regardless of how he might feel about the circumstances of its arrival. Whether Jacobson was being truthful about his intentions or not almost didn’t matter, if it meant that full Intarian backing was on the table.

The only thing giving him pause was the fact that it was already a bit late in the game for this kind of thing. Would such support be necessary? Hell, would it even arrive in time?

Jacobson took a deliberate breath and shook his head, then offered another smile. “Perhaps I already seem like I am beating around the bush. Allow me to be quite blunt with you, then, Master Jackson. Ultimately, what I am getting at... is that I believe public support for your war would be much easier to achieve if the Vanguard took on a more visible role in the eyes of the people.”

“Visible,” Jackson echoed flatly.

“Yes,” the senator went on. “And believe me, sir. I know how my words must sound, especially to one so old as yourself. The prattling of a pampered ignoramus. Or the badgering of an attention-seeking opportunist, perhaps. I know these labels and views of me well. But, sir, the only thing I want is to help bring this continental war to a swift conclusion before it grows any worse.”

How noble. “There have been times in the past when we have taken on such a role as you are suggesting,” said Jackson.

“Oh, I am aware, sir. The history of your legendary group has been of great interest to me since I was a child.”

“Then perhaps you are also aware of the reasons why we no longer do so.”

“I am aware of various arguments, yes. As I am also aware of counters to those arguments. Which I would like to provide, if you would be so kind as to hear me out.”

Oh, boy. Here we go. He had to hold back a sigh. “I feel as though I might be able to save us both quite a bit of time here by simply telling you ‘no.’”

“Saving time, sure. Saving lives, though? That is the more pressing matter, surely.”

“With respect, Senator, if you think it is that simple of a dichotomy, then you are even more ignorant than I feared.”

“Hah. Not simple, no. Not at all. But important, nonetheless. I understand your trepidation completely, sir. You do not wish to become an appendage of some bloated empire again, to have your reputation strangled and tarnished by some bureaucratic contract.”

“Well, in the past, it was more of an autocratic contract that gave us trouble, but yes, that is one of the major issues.”

“Ah, indeed, indeed. But I am not here to try and ‘bring you into the fold,’ as it were. No, I think the Vanguard is just fine where it is. Independent of any government. Beholden to none but itself. What I am offering, sir, is simply attention. Eyes. On this war of yours.”

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” said the senator, offering a handshake. “I know how busy you folk are.”

Jackson didn’t forget his manners and shook it.

You ‘folk,’ was it? These days, all of the politicians were well-acquainted with the Vanguard, but Jackson was not in the habit of meeting with any of them personally. He typically left that sort of thing to his men.

Most of those men were currently quite busy fighting a war or being held prisoner, though.

“It’s a bit strange for you to be dropping by unannounced like this, no?” said Jackson.

The man gave an airy laugh. “Strange is one word for it, I suppose. Persistent would be another. I’ve been trying to arrange a meeting with you for months. These last two weeks, I’ve resorted to coming here almost every single day in hopes of bumping into you. ”

That was news to Jackson. “Is that so? My secretary never mentioned that.”

“Really? I’m sure she must have seen me. And taken my team’s calls.”

“Mm,” hummed Jackson. “Perhaps I should have a talk with her after this.” And maybe give her a raise.

“Ah, no--don’t be too harsh on her on my account,” said Jacobson. “I’m sure it just slipped her mind.”

Jackson gave a laugh of his own. “Gracious of you.” He welcomed the man over to his desk so that they could both sit down.

What an old and familiar feeling. This stilted politeness. Appearances, appearances. Worry, worry, ever weary.

Politicians. He supposed he counted as one, himself.

Maybe he wasn’t as rusty as he thought.

“She said you wanted to talk foreign policy,” said Jackson.

“Ah--straight to the point, then. I appreciate that. Yes, sir, I did indeed wish to discuss the matter of this so-called Second Continental War going on, among other things.”

“Sounds like a long conversation.”

“Might be, might be. Although--well, ah, actually--how familiar are you with Intar’s official position regarding the war?”

He had to think a moment. It seemed rather obvious, so he was wondering if there was something he was missing. “Officially, you are neutral, yes?”

“Yes, but... everyone also knows that we are not truly so, since we are still providing considerable aid to one side. And the pressure has been mounting to make some sort of... formal announcement regarding our stance, one way or another.”

“Okay.”

At that, Jacobson hesitated.

But Jackson just waited. He did not see how any of this was relevant to him, nor did he wish to try and read into the other man’s intentions, just yet.

The Sandlords had such a long and turbulent history. The idea that they might have been snuffed out as a result of his own inability to keep them safe...

Ugh.

He was being irrational again. Thinking the weight of the world rested squarely upon his shoulders. How silly. When it was obviously much more complicated than that.

And yet, also not. Because really, if he was so curious about their whereabouts, he could simply begin asking the right questions.

What?

Yes. The right questions. Of the world.

No.

Of Avar.

He growled.

His stubbornness wasn’t doing anyone any favors, least of all the innocent civilians that he so wished to protect. If he was true to his convictions, then--

A knock at the metal door arrived, pulling him out of his own head.

“What is it?” he said loudly, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Sir, ah--Senator Jacobson is here to see you.”

He blinked. Jacobson? Out of the blue? Well, there was no point in thinking about it. While he might’ve been past the stage where he was afraid of accidentally harming those around him, he was still in no state to be hosting civilian guests. “Tell him I’m sorry but that I’m not taking visitors at this time.”

“Ah--he’s, er--very insistent, sir...”

He rubbed his forehead. Well, maybe it would be okay. “What does he want?”

“...‘To discuss foreign policy,’ he says.”

Oh boy.

This was hardly the first time that a political leader had come knocking at his door, and there’d been various points in his life where he’d grown quite comfortable in the presence of such people.

It had been a while, though. Even disregarding his questionable mental state, he still felt a bit rusty.

But that name. Jacobson, huh? It was hard to keep track of all these Intarian senators, especially when so many of them didn’t keep their positions for more than a few years, so the fact that he actually recognized this one was saying something.

He took a deep breath. “Alright, show him in.”

“Yes, sir.”

Maybe he was being an idiot. Or maybe this would be exactly the kind of distraction he needed, right now. He honestly couldn’t tell.

When the door opened, a middle-aged man in a sharp suit walked through while smiling graciously at Delilah, Jackson’s secretary, who closed the door behind him.

But from what sparse reporting Graves’ men had given, Vantalay seemed to be largely secured now. Abolish was on the backfoot after Graves routed Vanderberk’s forces. Apparently, the Weasel himself managed to escape, thanks to the last-second intervention of Gohvis.

As ever, the Monster’s movements were a surprise. Jackson never could figure out when that son of a bitch would actually do something. He’d been dormant for so long that it seemed like the rest of the world had all but forgotten about him.

And now he was making international headlines again, though most of the news outlets apparently didn’t know that he was the reason behind all the volcanic eruptions.

It pained Jackson all the more to be on the sidelines, right now. He had to wonder if that had factored into the Monster’s reasoning.

Probably. Morgunov must have told him something about it. Or perhaps he’d just known. In that obnoxious way of his.

Jackson knew he needed to stop dwelling on it. Whenever he allowed himself to think about Gohvis, he again felt that temptation welling up. That inner voice telling him to let it all go. To just embrace Avar’s power and go set the world to rights.

Mrgh.

Bastard.

Of all the times to reemerge. They were long overdue for another fight.

No. He had to calm himself.

The war front in Sair was the worst off, and that was of course due to his own failure. His attempts to restructure things in the defense of the Wetlands had not gone over terribly well. They just didn’t have enough men left who could lead in the field. Without that, it was all the more difficult to strike that already tough balance of protecting civilian lives and also communication and supply lines.

Honestly, it was a wonder that Sair wasn’t already conquered. Apart from a few minor victories here and there, the remaining Vanguard forces had been in constant retreat. Jackson didn’t understand why Bloodeye hadn’t been pushing harder. It was like he was distracted.

Perhaps with the Sandlords? Reports about them were scant in detail, but it did seem unlikely that they would have been entirely defeated so quickly. They might have been giving him hell as best they could, still.

If only the scouts could make contact with them. Even just being able to confirm their survival would mean so much, right now.

Regardless, that was a problem for another day. The other war fronts were in greater need of attention.

The defense of Hoss had started out horrifically, of course. The death of Carson was a blow that would not soon be forgotten, even if Kane and Grant seemed to have gotten things back under control. With Jercash’s forces routed, it was possible that not only Hoss had been saved but also Kavia, as well.

Jackson was hesitant about that conclusion, however.

Jercash had been in Kavia for months. By all reports, he and his men had had free reign in the capital, doing whatever the hell they pleased.

While it was possible that all they’d done during that time was celebrate their victory, Jackson had known Jercash for quite some time, now. And that man was not one to let an opportunity go to waste.

For that reason, Jackson had been taking an extra interest over there, keeping in constant contact with not only Kane and Grant but also many of their men.

The two of them didn’t always appreciate that. And he understood why, of course. Especially lately. His peers didn’t want him acting like their superior and ordering their men around.

Oddly enough, though, his poor condition seemed to be helping in that regard. He noticed the two of them behaving more empathetically toward him, if only a little. They probably realized that he wasn’t about to usurp or upstage anyone while he was in this state.

Hmm. Or maybe they were just worried about him. As much as they butted heads, it was sometimes easy to forget that they were all still the oldest of friends, when it came down to it.

How odd.

The Vantalayan war fronts were all sorts of curious. While he couldn’t say that Graves had mishandled things over there, it was certainly a mess and a half to keep track of. And it didn’t help that, out of all the marshals, Graves was the worst about keeping up with proper documentation.

Jackson had chastised him countless times and appointed dozens of secretaries and accountants over the years to help him manage everything, but it never seemed to do much good. Jackson didn’t think he’d ever met someone so disorganized. How that man’s divisions managed to get anything done at all, Jackson still did not know.

Whether Fen could actually keep such a promise, Jackson was not sure. The Old Wardens were notorious throughout history for various reasons, not the least of which was their tendency to exile people from their community.

They were a curious bunch, to be sure. At various points, their reputation had gotten them into quite a bit of hot water, usually from excommunicated members looking to find a way back in or to simply take revenge.

Fairly recently, in fact, there’d been some confusion over whether or not they still existed. Rumors abounded that they’d been wiped out entirely, purportedly by some other enclave that they’d been feuding with for centuries.

None of that bad publicity ever seemed to impact their allure, though. Hell, it might’ve even helped it, in some ways.

Jackson couldn’t say that he fully understood the appeal, but then, he’d never personally visited the Old Wardens and seen what all the fuss was about with his own eyes. He’d only heard about the supposed wonders that they kept all to themselves.

Libraries and debate parlors. Research institutes and theaters. Pools of ethereal water that even reapers could bathe in and enjoy. And countless guarded secrets that even exiled members had not been privy to.

Hyozen, for his part, was one of the reapers who was not particularly impressed.

‘If even half of the things said about them are true,’ the reaper had told him once, ‘then their isolationism is the cruelest of insults to the rest of the world. Keeping such intellectual riches to themselves would serve no other purpose than to empower the few at the expense of the many.’

But then, Hyozen had also originated from a rival enclave, so his views weren’t exactly surprising.

‘Moreover,’ the reaper had gone on, ‘their exclusivity is extreme even by enclave standards. And whom does that serve? Not the world, certainly. The entire purpose of enclaves is to provide a safe environment for reaper families to nurture new generations in order to stave off our ever-dwindling numbers in the world at large. But if they never leave their enclave, then that purpose is moot.’

How Fen had managed to earn his way into their good graces, Jackson very much wanted to know. Assuming that was actually the truth, of course. Fen certainly wasn’t the type to lie, but it was still rather hard to believe.

If it was a lie, though, then whatever house of cards that man had been building over there wasn’t likely to last for much longer.

Which would at least be interesting to see, Jackson supposed. He just hoped it wouldn’t be because of how disastrous it ended up.

While he did trust the officers to do their jobs properly--especially since he’d appointed or promoted almost all of them himself--it was still good to take a hands-on approach with these sorts of things, from time to time. If he didn’t, then he might begin to lose his touch.

And on this particular occasion, all this paperwork was helping to give him a better view of the war effort than perhaps anyone else in the world, right now.

Thus far, the war front in the best logistical position was clearly the defense of northern Melmoore against Ostra, though the southern defense against Corrico was a close second.

Most of the public credit for that seemed to be going to the Surgeon Saint, and judging from the books here, that wasn’t undeserved.

In fact, most of these invoices had been signed by Fen personally. Jackson also noticed copies of numerous handwritten letters by the man, sprinkled among all the accounting records. Each one was providing detailed instructions to his men about where to go next, what to do, and how to do it. He gave information on enemy movements, their numbers, and their access to local resources.

Oil seemed to be of particular concern to Fen. And with good reason, of course. That region was famous for its oil reserves and mining operations, so keeping Abolish off of those deposits was an understandable priority.

It hadn’t taken long for Jackson to begin questioning how Fen was acquiring his information. Usually, such impressive intel was an indication that Sparrows were being deployed, totally unimpeded by the enemy.

But Fen didn’t have command over a team of Sparrows. Or not at first, anyway. Jackson had since sent him one, which indeed only improved things further.

And... maybe he’d also wanted that team to report back to him on Fen himself. To answer that important question about how the Saint was pulling of these not-so-minor miracles.

The answer, according to the team, was something quite unexpected.

Fen had somehow acquired for himself a privileged status within the Old Wardens.

A prestigious reaper enclave. In fact, the prestigious reaper enclave. The most famous one, to which many reapers in the world longed to become a part of.

And so Fen had been using this newfound status as leverage to turn enemy reapers away from Abolish with the promise that they could one day join.

The complexity of the world was partially to blame for that, he felt. When things got messy. And tedious. And exhausting. That was when the temptation to “simplify” often arrived.

He didn’t want to imagine how strong such temptations might be after becoming one with a “god.”

His ego didn’t need that kind of boost. It was hard enough to remain humble, already.

Though, his current circumstances were certainly helping in that regard. He hadn’t felt this pathetic in quite some time.

While it was true that he’d never wanted to be a part of Project Blacksong, it was still tough being stuck here while everyone else was out there fighting so hard.

With so many of their leaders captured, it was impossible to deny the importance of Blacksong, right now. If things didn’t go well... if they suffered another major loss here...

Not to worry.

Abolish was getting absolutely hammered, and not just by the Vanguard.

Jackson stopped and blinked again. Where had that thought come from? Avar?

Silliness. Still making a distinction when there was none. The information was already there. Available to him. If he would just allow himself to see--

Jackson cut the notion off with a shake of his head. Enough.

He returned to his papers. There were plenty to go through. Thankfully, even in his current state, he could still make himself useful.

And it was calming work, too. Perhaps because he’d never really grown out of those early years as an accountant. If anything, his passion for thorough record-keeping and organizational beauty had only ever seemed to grow stronger, much to the chagrin of many of his subordinates and contemporaries.

Where they all saw tedium and hassle, Jackson saw a slow, wonderful march toward perfection. So slow, perhaps, that it might not always make it there, but that was okay. Steady progress was itself satisfying.

For the life of him, he’d never been able to understand why so few others felt the way he did. So many of them wanted to skirt the rules, spend their time on “more important things,” or otherwise avoid “busywork.”

Meanwhile, this was what kept everyone accountable for their actions. And what kept everything operating.

Very few things were more important than that. In fact, maybe nothing was.

The logistics of this war were certainly nothing to take for granted. At the very least, he was glad for the opportunity to go over everything personally.

Rather, he’d always thought of it as what people meant when they talked about one’s “conscience.” A guiding principle, of sorts. Something that seemed to have a life of its own.

But if that were the case, then wouldn’t that mean that Avar truly was a benevolent force? That Avar had been quietly helping him discern right from wrong his whole life?

Mm.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

Jackson was too skeptical, though. The more he thought about it, the more he was realizing that the simple truth of the matter here was that he did not trust Avar. Judging from both the folk tales of the Fire God and from Avar’s own admissions to him, it was clear that Avar’s past incarnations were very flawed beings.

And sure, perhaps that had been the human half corrupting the godly half, but wasn’t it equally possible that Avar himself was the problem? He was the only common denominator, after all.

And ultimately, that was why Jackson was so resistant. It wasn’t just about holding onto his own sense of self. It was about ensuring that he did not become some new, tyrannical incarnation.

Because he knew that he could. That was absolutely possible. And he would’ve been an utter fool to think otherwise, to think he was too strong of character or noble of heart to ever allow himself to go down that path.

Hell, even without someone threatening to meld minds with him, the temptation to tyranny was plenty strong enough.

That was a lesson he’d thankfully learned relatively early in his career as a Vanguardian. Sermung had made sure to impress it upon him over the course of many lectures and elaborate field studies.

“Above all, we must refuse the call to conquer,” said the Crystal Titan, once upon a time. “Down that road lies all manner of sweet songs and alluring rationalizations. Appeals to reason. Appeals to emotion. Appeals to ego. Appeals to simplicity. To tradition, even. But that is not us. We are defenders. We are the ones who stand against the conquerors and tell them that the world is not theirs. And if ever we forget that, then it will only be a matter of time until we become our own worst enemy.”

Jackson believed that sentiment wholeheartedly. Believed in its importance. And in its reality.

Over the course of his life, there had been many times when he’d felt the exact “call” that Sermung had been referring to. The temptation to just... solve everything himself.

From what he’d been able to learn--both from archived sources and from his passenger directly--each incarnation was a distinct entity. They all had their own views and personalities that set them apart from those that came before--perhaps even because of those that had come before.

Because Avar was the throughline that connected each new incarnation. According to him, he remembered all of his previous lives and therefore possessed their accumulated wisdom.

Wisdom which he was offering to share with Jackson.

The only problem being that Jackson, as he currently knew himself, would disappear into a newly merged entity. A new incarnation.

How, exactly, Avar had managed to get into his head in the first place, Jackson was still not entirely sure.

This voice speaking to him was certainly a new development, but truthfully, Jackson was beginning to wonder if Avar might not have been quite as “new” of a passenger as he’d first thought.

He wondered if, in fact, Avar might have been with him, silently, for a very long time already.

Perhaps since even before he’d met Hyozen and become a servant.

Because what had prompted Avar’s sudden arrival? The emergence at Jesbol? Why would that have done it? What sense did that make?

Not that things were making much sense, these days.

At the very least, it seemed clear that the emergence had been what brought this voice on. And these... memories. Ones that didn’t belong to him. Those hadn’t been there before, either.

It was to the point, even, where Jackson wasn’t always sure of what he was saying. Like only moments ago, when he told the voice that everything he’d been given had come with a price.

What price? What had he been given?

He felt like he knew the answers to those questions, and yet... he couldn’t quite put his finger on them. It was like he’d forgotten something but that it was also just on the tip of his tongue. If he could only remember.

Frustrating.

Meditation helped, though. He’d been neglecting that practice for years--decades, even--but he was suddenly finding it quite helpful again.

Calming. Relieving. Giving him a bit of the peace he was in such dire need of. If only for a little while.

Yes.

Yes, perhaps Avar had been with him for a very long time, indeed.

Because for as long as he could remember, Jackson had always felt a kind of second presence in his mind. Not a voice, of course, until now. Never anything so clear as that. Or so unsettling, either.

Even these archivers might not be so forgiving, though, if he accidentally incinerated some of these priceless tomes. Hell, he might not even forgive himself if that happened.

But he’d needed to learn more about this Avar character. And about what it truly meant to become a “vessel” for a supposed Primordial.

Unfortunately, none of what he’d learned had made things any simpler. In a way, it might’ve been better if the stories about Avar had all been terrible, because at least that would have made everything clearer. But no. The tales were wildly varied. In some of them, Avar was a benevolent force for good--a warm, nurturing figure who went to great lengths in order to foster and protect those who’d found themselves in dire straits.

One such story told of how Avar bestowed the Secrets of Fire upon the Aruni--theorized by some to have been the first homo sapiens--teaching them how to wield it safely for warmth, cooking, and warding off deadly monsters. It told of how Avar quarreled with other gods, who thought him too enamored with humanity, too generous with his gifts and teaching.

But other stories were more brutal, telling woeful tales of destruction. Of Avar’s flames becoming all-consuming, razing entire cities in a single night.

Such as the Tale of Vanwa. In it, Vanwa is a fishing village under siege from a larger village to the north. It is being raided constantly and having its goods stolen. And when Avar arrives--named Avarith in this story--he teaches the villagers of Vanwa to wield a magical form of fire so that they might defend themselves from their oppressors and protect what they rightfully own.

Which they do. And so Avarith departs, satisfied with the results.

But he returns many years later and discovers that Vanwa has become the oppressor. Where it was once a humble village, now it is a fortress town, possessed of a powerful military that uses the magic he gave them to subjugate its neighbors.

Incensed, he destroys Vanwa utterly, leaving not a single soul alive, not even the children.

And those were only the extreme examples. There were many others that fell somewhere inbetween, where Avar--or whatever the incarnation of him was being called--did not come across as good or bad, but rather just neutral.

It left Jackson feeling uncertain in all sorts of ways.

This business about “incarnations” was particularly curious, he felt.

Jackson just growled to the empty room around him. The pain was beginning to abate, but that might have been a result of his irritation more than anything else.

The voice in his head was not like that of a reaper. It was not distinct from himself. It was an inseparable part of him. And he knew it. He liked to pretend otherwise, to act as though these thoughts were not already his own, but deep down, he knew the truth. It was really just a matter of time until he finally gave in.

Or died.

In vain, most likely. Which would be a real shame, wouldn’t it? When he absolutely had the power to make this problem go away.

To make all his problems go away.

Jackson clutched his forehead and tried to steady his breath, as if doing so would help steady his mind, too.

“Please,” he said, more weary than angry now. “Please, just give me peace...”

He already had peace, of course, so this made no sense. He was just being his own worst enemy, as often seemed to be the case.

Nonetheless, the part of him that knew better decided to relent. To let him return to his comfortable denial.

For a while longer, anyway.

When Jackson opened his eyes again, he saw that he had sunken all the way down to the floor without realizing it.

Agh.

How much time had he just lost? Hopefully not much. He checked his phone and was relieved to see that it had indeed only been a few minutes.

He took another deep breath and stood up.

Dull aches still lingered across his body, but at least his head felt clear again.

He found the papers that had fallen to the floor and took small comfort in the fact that he had not accidentally incinerated any of them, this time. That was something, at least. A bit of hope that perhaps he truly was regaining more and more control over himself as time went on.

It was hard to have too much confidence in that theory, though. Especially when those intrusive thoughts sometimes felt like they were growing stronger, too.

The intrusive thoughts of Avar, the so-called God of Fire.

Jackson had come to learn quite a lot about this new passenger of his. That was one of the reasons why he’d decided to come to Intar. The work of the archivers here rivaled even that of those in Luugh.

That, and he was on better terms with these ones.

Now, well over a century later, people didn't say those things anymore. Instead, they whispered behind the Magician's back. Jackson had heard them many times. Talking about what a disappointment their "best and brightest" was against the likes of the Mad Demon. Talking about how incompetent or arrogant he must be, despite almost certainly having never met him.

Jackson hated the idea that, in his own moment of weakness, he might have added fuel to the inferno of self-doubt that he knew brewed within Xander Ulsmith. He was supposed to be a source of inspiration and encouragement for Xander, not the opposite.

He pushed the pain back down. Or rather, his perception of it.

Mind over matter. The age-old trick.

He’d been through fifteen surgeries in the last few months. And the first ones, at least, had certainly helped. But now, they were starting to seem like a waste of time.

That was probably because the Surgeon Saint had conducted the first ones and then handed the project off to others once Jackson had begun to improve. Perhaps that man really was his best hope.

Jackson didn’t blame him for stepping away, though. Fen Frederick had been instrumental to the Vanguard’s success in Melmoore. Jackson couldn’t justify keeping the man here in Intar for no other reason than his own personal convenience.

Plus, there was Project Blacksong to consider. Fen had his own involvement in that. And it was imminent.

Or had it already occurred?

Ugh.

His head throbbed again, despite his efforts.

Dammit. The slightest slip in concentration was enough to bring it back.

If this kept on indefinitely, he didn’t know what he would do.

Well.

Then again...

That wasn’t entirely true, now was it?

No, of course, the actual truth of the matter was that he already knew exactly what he needed to do.

He just didn’t want to accept it.

“Stop,” said Jackson through closed eyes and clenched teeth.

Still, he resisted. Of course he did. That was his nature. A part of what made him such a worthy vessel.

“Shut up.”

No one was saying anything to him. No one but the silent voice in his head that he hated listening to, despite everything that it had given him.

“Given,” he echoed, his voice thick with resentment. “Everything you’ve ‘given’ me has come with a price. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

Well, that was one way of seeing things. The wrong way, but a way, nonetheless.

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