Weaving - Slaughter with Extra Steps

Haith watched the flickering light of his fireplace reflect off the cool metal before him. The heat was a meager thing, but he liked how it mixed with the open balcony’s cool spring air. The way it clashed. A dance that became a singular, surging sensation as the conflicting atmosphere fought for domination over his Riftkeep lodgings.

“So what lies next for you, Inheritor Nallian?” Gideon floated the question into the open sky beyond the balcony’s railing. The silver-masked man had been surveying Tenzentak’s arduous recovery for the last half hour now. Haith didn’t give any indication that he’d heard. The young warrior merely sat there, slumped in a chair, speculatively turning the melted head of a warforged in his hands.

He hadn’t decided as to why he’d taken the remnant. It wasn’t even a real warforged. The head had belonged to one of those weasel’s creations. The distinction didn’t seem to matter to Haith. He knew that it theoretically should— these ones didn’t have souls. Perhaps that was why he was drawn to it; the fact they were the same to him should theoretically make him feel guilty. But, he was too tired for that. Too tired for a while now.

The different casts of automaton held the same value in his eyes. The same value as anyone he slew, regardless of flesh or steel. Haith often saw himself in those he fought— futile stands made against the force that drove him. He hated them for that. None of the clashes he’d been in over the last six years felt like a fight. Only slaughter. However, this last one had been slightly different. Different in a much more annoying way. Slaughter with extra steps.

“Why did we do all of this?” The words found their way to Haith’s mouth before he could properly weigh the question.

“Hm?” Gideon spun from the city to face him. The mask he wore today, etched in scale-like patterns, caught the flicking light of the fireplace, granting him a vaguely draconic appearance.

Haith stopped turning the head over in his hands but didn’t look up at Gideon. “Why did we go to such lengths? I could have done away with Colin Loin in… an hour.” 

“Colin Coinge” Gideon corrected. Haith made a curt, uncaring gesture. As if the mistake had only emphasized his point. Haith set down the head and joined Gideon on the balcony. His movements were smooth and powerful. Emboldened by the gift of flame itself.

“If we needed him to fail, why allow him to get so close to succeeding?” Gideon went to speak but Haith shot up a silencing hand. He knew what Gideon was going to say, but didn’t want to hear it. Gideon waited for him to put his hand down, and said it anyway.

“A truer world.” It was their mantra. Three words upon which the whole world turned. A noble mission, one that Haith had gotten sick of. He tried to hide his dispassion. Needed to hide it, but it was growing more and more difficult with each passing day.

The dark, inquisitive pits in Gideon’s mask watched the boy contemplatively. Haith was one of the most powerful warriors in The Three Corners, but lying was not a skill he’d ever had to hone.

“Why do you think it took so long for us to kill Giriam?” Gideon posed the question with casual ease, but the words immediately caused Haith’s back to straighten. The sudden mention of ultimate blasphemy was like a splash of ice-cold water. One did not speak of this. The slow turn of Haith’s head was like a heavy millstone, eyes wide with shock and appallment. The subject didn’t seem to phase Gideon at all.

“I’m… not supposed to talk about that— to know about that.” Haith’s usually stoic demeanor had been peeled away, exposing the scared youth within. “Valmore could kill us for this.”

“Would you like me to stop talking about it?” Gideon cocked his head. Haith’s silence was apprehensive, but he didn’t withdraw.

“Then I ask you again. Why do you think it took so long for us, a group of mere mortals, to kill Giriam?” The question was unfairly broad, slightly rhetorical, and complex, but Haith couldn’t pass up the opportunity to discuss it. The topic had been eating at him for years now. Eating at the whole world. Haith’s knowledge of what his people did and why was intentionally limited by his betters. He hadn’t even been sure they’d truly done it. That a Zolaen god could have actually been killed. As it were, Gideon’s question implied that everything his organization had done was coordinated to kill Giriam. Which couldn’t be the truth… could it?

Haith contemplated for a long while before speaking. Gideon, frustrating as he was, always spoke in games and riddles. Haith would get more out of him if he played a game of his own. “We’re not mortals.”

“I give you the opportunity to discuss the greatest question of the modern age, and you want to talk about existential philosophy? Philosophy forbidden amongst our ranks at that.” The silver mask betrayed no emotion, but there was a faint smile in Gideon’s words. Most would think Haith was being arrogant, but Gideon knew the boy was smarter than people gave him credit for. Haith gave a slight shrug. “Very well. I suppose if we are breaching confidentiality we may as well hold other rules in similar regard. If not mortals, then what are we in your eyes? Immortals? Gods?”

“I saw you take a spear to the heart only yesterday.”

“Oh, I can die. I’m just worse at it than most.” Gideon chuckled. “What about you? Let’s speak hypothetically. Say I task you to pick up your sword and kill everyone in Tenzentak right now. Could you do it? If you are not a mortal, any number of lesser beings shouldn’t be a concern should it?”

Haith weighed the logistics for a moment. “No. If I’m lucky I’d get nearly an eighth and that’s a generous estimate. The Guild would be able to trap me. Kill me, maybe.” There was no shame in his words. Haith didn’t have any delusions about his power. “And many would probably escape.”

“So how would you do it? If you had to, I mean.”

Haith shifted his posture, betraying a hint of annoyance. “I see where you’re going with this, Gideon. I would need planning, tactics, allies, deception.”

“Mortality is a matter of perspective. A matter of stakes.”

“So everything before the Ahamatath… truly was done to kill Giriam?”

“More or less.”

“H- How?” The ineffective question forced its way from Haith’s lips.

“Look at Colin Coinge’s efforts. The world wouldn’t accept the truth as he saw it. So he had to maneuver them.”

“Look where that got him.” Haith nodded towards the four craters of Belzan Tower, arranged like the incomplete petals of a flower.

“Nothing compared to what we’ve done. The losses we’ve faced. You know that.” Gideon’s words were mournful as he gazed out into The Grand Nothing.

Haith had only had pieces of the story. Speculations, rumors, and the fragments he’d been told. The implications behind Gideon’s words gave weight to Haith’s darkest theories. Gideon pushed away from the balcony and strode for the door to Haith’s chamber.

“You look upon this last week with scrutiny, but this our lot, dear Inheritor. And while it may feel foolish now, you’ll look back upon it soon with understanding. Our master does not delegate imprecisely. The fact the need for your usual violence has been given more,” Gideon searched for the right word. “Specificity— means that you have been given a greater purpose. Not a lesser one.”