Chapter Text
Prologue:
Wei Shi Lindon Aurelius gazed at the corpse of the Mad King. Suriel and Ozriel floated next to him in the void over Cradle. Around them hung the bodies of his friends. Akura Mercy, Ziel, and Orthos had died in this battle. He flexed the fingers of his arm--of Subject One's arm--feeling the cold rage settling in his soul. Yerin was below, finishing her battle with Reigan Shen, but she had seen the deaths of their friends as surely as he had. If she hadn't, Dross would have told her already.
The battle had been long, and difficult. The worst part had been the Monarch's listening to the promises of the Mad King. Had Ozriel and Suriel not shown when they did, it would surely have been their loss. In the fight against the Mad King, Lindon had been frustratingly powerless. Powerless until he realized he could do unto a Fiend as he had unto the Dreadgods. He had only siphoned the smallest, most inconsequential part of Oth’kimeth. Even that much had nearly killed him, and would have if not for Suriel's presence. But it had provided the opening, alongside his friends, for Ozriel and Suriel to strike the finishing blow. A finishing blow that had cost far, far too much. This wasn't a victory. Victory would have been ascending with his friends, would have been the defeat of the Mad King without this terrible sacrifice.
Suriel gazed regretfully at the bodies, floating as they were. She spoke quietly, jade-colored hair floating around her like a cloud. "Lindon, I'm sorry. Ozriel's power kills beyond even my own ability to restore. It's sort of the entire reason we keep him around." Ozriel put a hand on Lindon's shoulder, in the ensuing silence. He looked strange in his black armor and flowing white hair, but he was still, unmistakably, Eithan. "If we had all been a little wiser, this could have been avoided. I am sorry, Lindon. If they hadn't worked together to restrain him for that brief moment...I couldn't be indiscriminate. I know how frustrating this is. I know exactly how it is you're feeling, my friend. I grieve for them too. If only there were a way to ensure that we made the correct decisions when they needed to be made. Why, if only there were a certain pair of judges who had the capability, with their opposing powers united, to ensure that we could have done this right.
Suriel's face darkened as Ozriel spoke, even as Dross excitedly began to spin out the possibilities. "Lindon," the mind spirit exclaimed, "I think he can do it! I mean, I don't know that he can do it, but if he can we should absolutely take him up on it. We are taking him up on it? Oh who am I kidding, of course we are. Oh, Suriel looks mad though. She looks real mad. Is she usually that mad?" The Phoenix of the Abidan looked about ready to explode, turning on Eithan with a mix of fury and horror in her voice. "That could destabilize the Way, Ozriel! If we did something so risky, right here at the heart of everything, it--I don't know what it would do! Haven't you made enough rash, irresponsible decisions lately?!"
Ozriel chuckled to himself. "Indeed, Lindon. If I did this, we'd be on a strict time limit. We'd have to get everything resolved by this point in time at the very latest, or else time could collapse on itself! It's not as though you already know all of your revelations, or every step of your Path that can be taken with speed and efficiency. Goodness, it would be so terribly irresponsible if I just did something like this--"
Ozriel, Eithan, readied his black scythe. "Yourself and Yerin are likely the only two who will remember these events. I can't send myself back, you see. I'm a bit too much of a burden on the Way as I am. Think about it! This time, you'll be the ones with the answers, able to tease me with them. At least, so long as you actually remember to wash your hair properly. You do remember what I showed you, right?" Suriel's razor formed in her hand. She was moving to try and stop Ozriel before it was too late, before he did something irreversible. Both she and her presence knew, however, that it was too late. This was exactly the response Ozriel wanted, and on some level, she was willingly playing right into it. He swung down at Lindon before Lindon had the chance to really consider how terrible of an idea this might be. Dross, thankfully, was already listing all the ways this could go terribly, terribly wrong.
A scythe that slices reality. A razor that cleaves it together. Both met, clashing, across Lindon's flesh. He only had time to say one thing, before the Way shook. Before he was sent back, before he was once more an Unsouled of Sacred Valley. There was only one word that came to mind, and he said it with all the pain, regret, and triumph that warred for dominance in his breast. With a smile through the soul-wrenching agony of the Way's damage, that one word escaped his lips.
"Gratitude."