#nuroka

“You knew, yes?” Nuroka’s gaze burned like a living flame as he stared at my mask.

“You knew of Amon’s treachery.” His accusation emanated with a primal, instinctual rage. A wave of heat accompanied it as raw psionic energy smashed my barely formed shields into pieces.

“You knew He meant for us to die.” I leapt back when he dove forward, dodging another blast that would have annihilated a lesser ascendant. How could I answer when responding meant burning down the last bridge that connected us?

…Perhaps they were all destroyed last night anyway.

So I said nothing. The only answer was another shield, one he shattered all so easily under Alarak’s empowerment. The silence was a decision. A choice.

Just as the verdict to keep our Master’s true words a secret was. --- “Highlord.”

“Ugh, what now? Can’t you see I have reports to read? God, I wish Nuroka was fucking here.”

Ma’lash muttered in frustration, throwing the recording crystal under his desk where it clattered sadly onto the ground. A small metallic clink accompanied it, ringing out in the silence that echoed across the meeting room.

Whatever discussion that occurred had been finished for a while now, and the Highlord was alone. The interrupting Ascendant swallowed, knowing the Blade of Amon’s temper and stood at attention as his commanding officer got up from his seat while glaring daggers.

“This better be important, or else your skull will be sitting in the lobby of this building to remind others not to interrupt me.”

A tremor shook through the other’s body, as a coworker had been disembowelled by the Highlord last Tuesday. “A-apologies! I carry word from the Seers, you are needed at the Temple of Rebirth.”

Ah, the shittest temple on all of Slayn where I am forced to speak on His behalf, and ‘motivate’ our people.

Ma’lash inhaled, but it looked more like he was trying to contain a volcano of boiling irritation. “Why? Send Alarak. He’s the First, he can deal with it.”

Not in the mood for religious nonsense right now.

“It’s the unbelievers,” the Ascendant insisted. “The High Seer insists you be there as the Truthbringer’s Speaker, to show them the will of our God!”

Of course it is. Everything is about Amon. His will, His orders, what food He wants for dinner. Nobody cares about my will, only His. 

The Highlord’s expression was as unimpressed as ever. “Fine. Tell them I’ll be there in ten. I have something I need to attend to first.”

The moment the door shut, he turned back to the crystal that now lay abandoned under his desk. “God damn it Nuroka, faith is your strong point, not mine!”

The crystal was levitated back into his hands with his own magic. The moment he caught it, the metal claws he wore on his fingers dug into the shard. Piercing, crushing, marking it as though willing something -someone- to stay.

“Why did you have to ask- to know, to understand, that-”

He shook his head, biting back a strangled sound that could have been a plea. --- Yes, it’s all true.

Nuroka’s… [belief] that Amon had betrayed us.

All those promises, all the glory, all of that power. How could anyone resist when our society’s foundation was built on Him? His word was law. His will was our command. His Chosen was us.

Few knew of the reality behind His intentions. Many leaders who fell before me lacked the awareness nor had the time to earn the right to know.

But I knew.

The moment He spared me, I knew there was more to just mercy. Enough blood to fill buckets had stained my hands that day when I plowed through the Chain. ‘Brutal wrath’, people had called it. ‘Blessed by Amon’. It’s more of a curse.

How could one understand a god’s intentions? In the language of Terrans, my perception of His teachings can be described as “I don’t give a shit”. Faking interest when advisors lectured endlessly about His teachings became old quickly.

I hardly cared about any sort of… faith-related teaching before He ‘saved’ me, even though this would be a death sentence to admit out loud- hence. This crystal.

If anyone hears this message at all, then I am likely dead. High probability of Rak’Shir, though there are low chances of assassination, illness, dying in so-called glorious battle. Whichever way I died, I do not care. I have been waiting for my death the moment I murdered the Highlord before me.

It does not matter how many First Ascendants a Highlord kills, for they will not stop. It only encourages this cycle of slaughter that cripples our people, as every person wants to reach the top.

I have to give Him credit. He uses ambition, pride, suspicion, and greed to entice and smother; He abuses trust, admiration and idolisation to build connections. He makes promises and gifts others the light they need to continue on.  It’s the one thing I admire from His Great Work, weaponising and using the weakness of others.

But no gift could amount to what was stolen from me, and what He just took from me with all His lies- --- No. 

“Stop. Don’t sound so goddamn emotional.” He slapped himself gently on the cheek. “You’re the Highlord, Ma’lash. Act like one. You’re not mourning, you’re stating what Amon took from you- your people.” 

The corrections were hitting a nerve, and the Blade of Amon scowled. The crystal reflected his image back, almost mocking his denial. Ma’lash glared at it back, before inhaling deeply and resummoning his composure. “He doesn’t matter, you’ve killed countless Firsts before him-”

Violet eyes.  Bloody robe.  That look in his eyes that screamed why didn’t you tell me-

Ma’lash paused mid-rant, discomfort settling in as he wiped sweat from his forehead. There was a wave of humidity filling the now heated room.

He made a noise that was a mix of an exasperated sigh and knowing chuckle.

“Haunting my air conditioning now, are you?”

He shook his head and picked up the recording crystal again.

“...This was meant for you, anyway. You just… couldn’t make it.”