CHAPTER 926: AN IMPOSSIBLE CONVERSATION

I didn’t remember much more that night than waking up when Fyren took me from Luke’s arms, and then a brief memory of Luxxa helping me crawl out of my dress before tucking me in bed like a child. After that, nestled in the soft, silken sheets, I drifted through visions, wandering the streets and manors of Duskwood.

I quickly found myself in an unfamiliar manor, with gaudy, gold-leaf decor and rich, gemstone-inlaid furniture. A bloody corpse with a terrible wound in its neck lay stretched across the ground, a group of elvish guards standing over it, murmuring in low, worried voices.

The door burst open, and an inquisitor strode in, his face black with fury.

"He’s dead?" he asked, glaring at the elf on the ground.

"Yes, my Lord," one of the soldiers said, a captain by the look of it. "We discovered him this morning, but he’s been dead for at least six hours. No one could have snuck past our defenses without being at least sixth-level. A Dark Guild Assassin, by my reckoning."

"Damn it, that’s the fourth one this week," the inquisitor seethed. "How the hell did they know he supported us? His donations were anonymous! Damn it all!"

"My Lord," the captain said hesitantly, "It’s not my place to say so, but perhaps that conversation should happen behind closed doors. Lady Irene is expecting you, and has the diviner’s report. If anything can be gleaned from magic, they’re sure to find it."

"It’ll be nothing. Again," the inquisitor snorted. "This Dark Guild is too good. But you’re right, I forget myself, and the eyes around us. Thank you, Captain. You’ve done commendably, and I’m certain your services will be rewarded by the gods."

The vision dispersed, reforming in an old, ruined building. It was a chapel, by the looks of it, but the only light that graced its halls pierced the cracked ceiling, cutting through the dust-choked air in thick, clumpy beams. The pews were blackened and rotted, the tile floor cracked and crumbling. At the far end, beneath a high domed ceiling, was a Shard of Omniscience. Or rather, what had once been one.

The shard was pitch black and without sheen, bound by thick swirls of Black Mist. A rune floated in the air a few feet off the ground, the center of the enchantment corrupting its power. At its foot knelt a figure in a tattered black cloak, his head bowed.

As if sensing my gaze, the figure stood, turning, and I gasped softly.

"Connor?" I whispered.

His head moved, his eyes locking onto me. His irises were gone, swallowed up in the void of his pupils.

"Xiviyah," he said, nodding. "I wasn’t expecting to see you here."

"You can see me?" I asked, chills running down my spine. I reached out with my soul, but the taint of the black mist wafted through me, reassuring me this really was a vision.

"Somewhat. I suppose this is just an ability, and you’re not really here. A projection?"

I shook my head. "No, a vision. I’m from the past, you might say. About three months, by the feel of things."

He frowned, a terrifying expression with his black eyes. "The past...I see. From your words, I gather you didn’t come here intentionally? How...fickle."

"You don’t seem surprised," I said.

He shrugged. "I suppose not. Even Verity, that hopeless, naive girl, could do as much. You’re far stronger than she, when it comes to fate. At least, that’s what the inquisitors believed, and I happen to agree. Otherwise, with as many resources as they threw at you, you wouldn’t have managed to survive."

"Thanks?" I asked, tilting my head.

He hummed faintly, looking me up and down. I shivered, grateful I’d formed wearing an elvish dress. Not that he had eyes for the living, or even the dead, but it left me feeling less exposed.

"I’ve lost," Connor said suddenly.

"Sorry?"

"My little war. I’d hoped to take this continent, but the most I ever managed was a few meager kingdoms. Almost two million souls, but far from enough. R’lissea was stronger than I expected." He sighed, shaking his head. "She was always the weakest of us all, forced to learn healing and support magic so the other heroes would get a chance to shine. She’s grown a lot."

"You almost sound proud," I said.

"Perhaps I am. Despite our differences, I respect her convictions, even if she’s naive."

"Is it bad?" I asked, looking around the ruined chapel.

"As I said, I’ve lost. It won’t be long before the last of my liches fall, and I’m made vulnerable."

"You could surrender. You’ve hurt so many people, but there’s always a path–"

"No, not for me," he said coldly. "I’ve chosen my path, and I intend to walk it to the end. And no, the irony isn’t lost on me. My powers are those intended to cheat that final reality, to undo the only inevitability of life. It must be strange to you that I refuse to embrace that now."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I understand better than most. I’ve sought the oblivion you seek."

"Hmm, I see. I wondered why I could never hate you," he murmured. "Even then, when we met, you were interesting to me. A soul that stands in past, present, and future, who bears the blood of worlds on her shoulders."

"Do you remember Brithlite?" I asked softly.

He nodded. "Of course. We shared a table, if I recall. I tried to kill you, actually, because of your nature, as I just said."

I folded my arms, the tip of my tail swishing nervously. "Well, um, you made me a promise. After that part, that is."

He frowned. "A promise? I’m not sure I recall."

I took a deep breath, pressing on. "You said that if I ever needed someone to talk to, I could talk to you."

He blinked, staring at me with that awful, unsettling stare. "Of all the things you could remember, that seems a strange one. I suppose that was when I still had hope for this world, and feared what might happen if you would turn on it. Nice to see I was right about something."

"Well, that’s what I wanted to ask," I whispered. "What do you see when you look at my soul? And is that ability why you’re able to talk to me now?"

"I see everything. And nothing at the same time. A beginning, and an end," he murmured, sounding distant, but earnest. He met my gaze, and this time, I didn’t shrink away. "I once thought your soul would be stained with the blood of millions, that the horrors you would unleash would ravage worlds. But now, I see the darkness that stained you, the blackness deeper than any demon, isn’t from the density of the sins you’ve committed. It’s just...nothing. Oblivion."

"If that’s nothing, then what do you mean by everything?" I asked.

"White. Pure, untainted innocence. A soul who has yet to make any choice, to influence any other life," he said. "I suppose you could call that fate. A fullness of reality, of paths that have yet to be trod."

"I don’t understand," I said. "What is that supposed to mean?"

He smiled wryly. "And here I thought you asked me about it because you had some enlightenment concerning the matter."

A low rumble shook the ground, dust raining from the ceiling. Connor looked up sharply, a slight frown forming.

"I fear my time is short, and I must go to my final battle. But of your soul, I can say only this: there is so little that matters in this existence, so little purpose to the cycle. You stand between fate and oblivion. You have a choice to make, a war to fight. Either way, I believe I shall win in the end. If you lose, and the gods continue their schemes, then oblivion will surely follow. But if you defeat them..." he smiled faintly, "Perhaps my next life will be one worth living."

The vision scattered, leaving me in darkness with a thousand questions. I’d never seen Connor so warm or friendly. Perhaps it was because he knew his end was near, or he really did feel that we were kindred, in a way. I felt a small twinge of sorrow for him, of one with so much power, and yet nothing at all. A reflection of what I might have been, without Aurle, Korra, or Luke.

But any sympathy I might have had died before it could bloom. His choices, the millions he had slaughtered, and his own selfish desire for the end, made him a monster. Going forward, I would do everything I could to ensure this vision came to pass. He would receive the justice he deserved.

But his words still troubled me. I held the divinity of fate, but at the time we met, that still belonged to my goddess. And how could he see Oblivion within me? According to Fate, Oblivion was the exclusive domain of the demons, and I’d never even seen an oblivion demon, nor heard mention of one. What did it mean that those two powers were entwined within me? Was that the nature of all fate heroes, or was I somehow special?

There was no use speculating on it further, not without more answers. Not that I had time, for the light gathered again, plunging me into familiar gardens. It was a stark, vivacious contrast to the awful gloom of the ruined chapel, with sunlight, flowers, and the uneven paving stones of the Sunsinger Estate surrounding me.

I drifted across the land, feeling that this vision wasn’t far from my time now, perhaps only a day or two. I was curious about the purpose of this vision, that is, until I saw Luke. Luke and Korra, sitting together with a bottle of wine, sipping from glasses. My heart skipped a beat, a greater unease filling me than had gripped my heart just minutes ago in Connor’s presence.

Those two together...that couldn’t be good.