Paragon

by Rowan Rook

  Jeriko arched a curious brow. "I'm glad to see you two made up."

  Anson blinked, then realized he and Shakaya were less sitting than leaning into each other. She held him close, an arm wrapped around his waist from behind, keeping him from crumbling. Quite the contrast from the last time Jeriko and Aydel had seen the two of them together. He flushed beneath his sister's disapproving glare.

  Shakaya glowered back at the Butterflies silently.

  "Well, I won't ask." Jeriko smiled. "It's just nice to see, that's all."

  Aydel sighed. "I tried my best, but if you insist on dying a fool, I won't stop you."

  Anson couldn't help but laugh. "You couldn't, anyway."

  When the silhouettes of the Rinvale Islands first formed on the horizon, dread poured down on him like rain. He had dulled his mind with resignation, but that didn't keep fear from twisting up his insides. He didn't want to die; he had no other option. He couldn't back out, not now.

  The Butterflies docked at Rinvale's largest island. There was nothing there. No civilization. No people. No Rickard. Despite a brief search, the Butterflies found no sign of the Overseer.

  Anson waited, studying the island. Decaying huts hid themselves in the overgrowth, their familiar, ornate details suggesting they had once housed Lyrum. Perhaps Rinvale had long ago harbored a colony, but it was abandoned, painted green and gray by the years. Before him was a simple grass clearing. Nothing out of the ordinary. For the so-called Source, it was underwhelming.

  He glanced at Jeriko. "Are you sure this is the right place?"

  Jeriko nodded. "This was a holy place, once. It even had its own guardians to protect it." His gaze wandered across the empty homes. "The veins of Auratessa itself are exposed here, on this dull little island." He smiled at Anson. "Imagine that."

  Perhaps the mundanity made it even more remarkable. Anson's stare stopped at the center of clearing. Terror and excitement fought inside of him, sparking explosions of shivers and wreaking havoc on his body while his mind struggled for calm, quiet, focus. This...this was really it. All of his mad dreams, all of his nightmares. All of it had led to this.

  "Are you ready, then?" Jeriko pressed.

  Anson breathed. "As I'll ever be."

  Trying not to think about what awaited him after this endeavour, and the sense that he still had no idea what he was doing, the Editor reluctantly stepped into the clearing.

  "Wait!" Shakaya shouted. "What about Rickard?"

  Jeriko groaned. "We'll keep watch for her. There's nothing we can do if she's not here and no point in putting this off. You know that as well as anyone."

  Shakaya gritted her teeth and stared at the grass, her eyes welling up.

  Anson frowned, remembering what he'd told Shakaya beside Blaker's grave. "I don't want to do this if Rickard can interfere."

  Jeriko met his worried gaze. "We'll take care of Rickard if she tries anything, so don't you worry about that. Go on, whenever you're ready."

  Anson opened and closed his mouth, uncertain. He shouldn't begin the process until Rickard was dealt with. He knew that. But his mind and his muscles were alive with anticipation, and a part of him didn't want to wait. If he waited, he'd wilt.

  He had to do this now.

  Anson stared back at Jeriko. "We're really doing this?"

  Jeriko shrugged. "You tell me."

  Anson tried to find Shakaya's gaze.

  She closed her eyes, only nodding.

  Anson swallowed, his pounding heart climbing higher into his throat with each passing second. His senses flickered—as if he might suddenly pass out and let it all end—but he refused to allow his fear to reach his face. After all, this was what he had wished for.

  "You should be able to figure out how this all works." Jeriko's hands were in his pockets, but sweat shimmered on his brow. "You'll have to allow the Author access to the Inkwells inside your body. I'm sure it can walk you through the process itself better than any of us can."

  Anson shuffled his feet, not pleased with the idea of welcoming the thing that had haunted him for so many years. "How long will I have?"

  "It's hard to say." Jeriko smiled sadly. "Work quickly."

  Anson fell silent, his breathing shallow.

  Jeriko stepped away from the Butterflies and toward the Editor. He tried again to offer an outstretched hand, as if it were the first time they had met. "I really am sorry."

  Anson sighed, before finally accepting the Butterfly's hand.

  Aydel followed after Jeriko. The brother and sister stared for a long while, green eyes meeting brown, before Aydel broke the silence. "I knew that you'd change your mind if you left. Neither of us ever really had a choice...and I wish it hadn't been that way."

  Anson offered her a bittersweet smile. "I do, too. If I'd known that you survived..." He breathed, swallowing down a sob. "I wish I could've grown up with you. I wish we could've had more time."

  "I was the one who told the Council." Aydel closed her eyes as they dimmed with regret. "If I hadn't...then perhaps none of this..."

  Anson forced any anger away. He hadn't forgiven the Butterflies, but maybe he had forgiven her. "We were children. The Butterflies used both of us. Neither of us wanted things to end the way they did."

  "Anny..." She wrapped her arms around him, her eyes watering. "If by some miracle you end up in the same place, say hi to Lyn for me, will you?"

  Anson blinked. If he succeeded, Aydel would no longer have to die. Her lifespan would be prolonged to Human lengths. Lyn would be brought back with the same blessing. Still, he returned the embrace. "You'll be seeing her again soon. I won't."

  Aydel looked at him through eyes as emerald as Riksharre's forests. Their faces shared the same uncertainty, as if neither of them quite believed his words. "No matter what happens, you'll always be my brother."

  "You'll always be my sister." Anson smiled.

  Aydel smiled back, before reluctantly releasing the embrace and stepping away.

  Shakaya was the last to linger. She came forward, grasping his hands in hers, finally looking at him. She had collected herself, just as she always did. It was only the shimmer in her blue eyes that belied her grief. "We'll handle Rickard, don't worry."

  Anson nodded, though that was hardly what he wanted the last words she offered him to be. Untangling his fingers from hers, he reached up and untied the red ribbon from his hair. "I hate to give this back so soon, but..." He took her left hand and tied the ribbon around her wrist. "Keep it. A piece of me will always be with you, even if you don't remember where it came from."

  Shakaya stared down at the ribbon, as if embedding it in her mind as something important, something she would treasure, even if the memories tied to it faded. Tears escaped and spilled down her cheeks.

  She embraced him tightly, one last time.

  He sank into her strong arms, wishing he could stay there forever. His forehead touched against hers, and they lingered for a while, breathing in each other's scents.

  Her lips pressed against his.

  "It doesn't matter what you say," her voice was as sure as ever. "I won't be able to forget you."

  Their eyes met a second longer, before Shakaya suddenly turned away. She rejoined the rest of the Butterflies, her gaze shifting. She stared back at him as a soldier.

  Shakaya...

  Anson hesitated for a final moment, his eyes still set on hers.

  Even if you didn't do this, you wouldn't live. Feeling young instead of old. Separated from the years your loved ones have left. Such is the sad fate of a Lyrum who became too Human for his own good.

  "I don't regret any of it," Anson whispered, so quietly that the voice wouldn't reach any ears but his. "I'm happy that I lived. I wish it could be longer, but the time I had was precious enough." He forced his eyes away from Shakaya's and let them land on the sky. "I only wish I would have used it differently..."

  He could feel the second being in his body grin.

  It's too late to change. Let me take co
ntrol of the power you're carrying. The power you don't even understand how to use. The Author laughed. It's a pity you couldn't regain every Inkwell, but this will do. Let's get started, shall we?

  The eyes of every Butterfly were on him. They waited expectantly, all the island in a hush. Anson tried to smile for them. "Will I go to Heaven or Hell?" It didn't matter what the answer was—he couldn't change it now.

  I don't know. I'm not the only being out there. I'm not the gatekeeper of such things. I can summon and remove life from my domain, but where it came from and where it goes is as unknown to me as it is to you.

  A spark of surprise stirred Anson's senses, but it didn't change anything. He closed his eyes. "I suppose I'll find out."

  ...Think of it as a last great experiment.

  Anson smirked just slightly, in spite of himself. He took a deep breath and cherished the sensation of air moving through his lungs. He placed a hand over his chest and memorized the rhythm of his own heart. He embedded the sensations deep within his mind, locking them away somewhere where they would always remain. "Tell me what to do."

  Surrender yourself to me!

  Savage energy rushed through him, erupting like a gale that came from inside his own body. All of his senses sputtered violently as reality itself wavered. A scream tore from his lungs.

  It was as if he'd been ripped from his own flesh.

  Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ

  Anson saw the world. The entirety of Auratessa unfolded before him. Every shadow, every valley, every dune. The soft sand of Lusanthine's beaches. The snow-painted peaks of Havventhale's mountains. The lovely, glistening lake of Riksharre, and the stubborn flowers still blooming near its shores. The expanse of the ocean and the undiscovered creatures lurking beneath its waves. The elegant steeples of Velvire. The dreadful, torchlit mines of Hazza. The concrete streets and towers of Elavadin. ...The Academy's skeletal remains.

  Anything and everything was there, submerging all of his senses, surrounding him from every angle as he stared without eyes.

  Blood stained the wilds beyond Elavadin. Bodies—Human and Lyrum alike—lay sprawled on the browning grass while the two species fought with eyes set to kill. Sylan Rita stood at the front of his forces. So did Edgard Verox. What Anson witnessed at the Academy had only been the trigger for an explosion.

  The rebellion wasn't contained to Elavadin. It wasn't even contained to Lusanthine. Battles burned in Havventhale, many in places and towns he'd never seen before. War had swept all across Auratessa. The deadliest uprising blazed over the borders of Velvire, while the frightened, lonely king watched the world through his windows.

  The Lyrum were remarkably well organized. The revolt moved in unison, united in perfect violence despite the distance between soldiers. The conflict was far more than a simple spark—it was a storm, a fire.

  "One that would eventually consume Auratessa. These fools will be the first to taste the destruction they've wished for. This world was a mistake."

  Anson felt himself blink, but never saw his eyelids flicker in front of his vision. His own voice had formed those words, but...

  A flash of lightning lit the clouds above Elavadin City, painting its bloodied outskirts in white. It was hardly a simple shudder of electricity. Divine fire split the fields and set them ablaze, consuming soldiers in a burst of light and malice. The flames distorted reality around them, and where they burned, they left no bodies. They left no ash. The victims were erased.

  Anson shivered, strength like a million tiny Inkwells spilling into him as the unnatural flames burned and consumed.

  What...what is this? He stammered. Tell me! What's happening? The Author's energy stirred inside of him, but...he wasn't doing this! He wasn't doing any of this! This wasn't...

  And then it hit him. He had spoken, but his voice had never reached his tongue.

  Panic doused him and he frantically tried to move his limbs, to speak, to do anything at all. Nothing happened. His pleas echoed hollowly inside his mind. His body was unresponsive. His five senses were disconnected from the clearing where he stood on the Rinvale Islands. His heartbeat remained calm and steady, despite the horror plunging into him when he suddenly understood.

  He had switched places with the being that had hidden inside his head, with the Author. He no longer had control of his own body. Rage smoldered in what felt like his stomach, yet his muscles never stiffened.

  Anson heard what had once been his own voice laugh. "It's frustrating, isn't it? Don't worry. I'll give you quite the show! You've been a gracious host after all, Anson Anwell."

  Another blast of unnatural lighting split the sky above Velvire and ignited the capital city with ash-less fire. Strength trickled into Anson's veins while the hungry flames erased Humans and Lyrum from the battlefield. Screams echoed, as loud and raw as if his victims had been standing beside him.

  What the Hell do you think you're doing! This is... You're...!

  "Destroying Auratessa. This world can't be salvaged. I'm taking back what was once mine before your pathetic body burns out. At least then I'll have the strength to start anew."

  You told me you wanted to save Auratessa!

  "I do, and this is the only way that I can," the Author sneered. "After all, the route to rebirth is always through death."

  Everything left of Anson went cold.

  This isn't what was supposed to happen! I was supposed to be the one who—

  "You were lied to, once again. So many of you were. I have no body of my own. I needed you to gather them for me, but only I can make use of the Inkwells. They're mine and mine alone."

  Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ

  "Only the Author itself can make use of the Inkwells it left behind, of course. It would be naive to think otherwise."

  Butterflies whirled to face Rickard at the sound of her voice.

  Rickard didn't hide her satisfaction. She had anchored her boat in the shadow of the adjacent island and watched from a distance, waiting for the Draft to start. In the chaos, no one had noticed her approach.

  Horrified sets of eyes darted back and forth from her to the Editor. The thunder striking over the continents—immensely loud even from the island—left them shaking and the Editor's words no longer sounded like his own. She could see on their faces that the wrongness was sinking in.

  Her daughter didn't even look at her, her eyes wide as she watched the Author speak through her Amaranth's mouth.

  Aydel stomped closer, her hands clenched into fists. "What the Hell is this? At this rate, it'll destroy—"

  "It'll destroy Auratessa, yes." Rickard smiled, tucking her hands into her pockets. Her fingers brushed the cold metal of the Medium's remote, calming her pounding heart. "A place like this deserves no better. Or at least, that's how the Author has long felt for a long time. It wants to end this world and build again from scratch."

  "You bastard!" Aydel spat. "I've worked with you for years, and you never—"

  "I've kept a few facts to myself," Rickard admitted. She reached up and played with strands of her hair. "I learned a few things after researching the first Editor to end up in my lab. By pretending to crave destruction as much as the Author, the thing itself told me truths through its drugged vessel's lips. Don't feel so bad for not seeing me for what I am. After all, I even fooled a god!"

  The Butterflies were silent, their breath sucked out of them.

  "But surely you can't blame me." Rickard sighed. "Had I been honest, none of you would have helped me, would you?"

  Jeriko raised a fist, an accusatory finger pointed at his Overseer's head like a loaded gun. "You promised me that my daughter—"

  Rickard smiled sadly. "Your daughter is dead."

  Jeriko's fist flew toward her face.

  Rickard sunk into the sick feeling of Translation, letting electricity paint a protective barrier of blue and white over her body. "But don't you worry, you'll still be seeing her soon."

  Jeriko screamed when electricity shot up his arm and swept him off his feet.

/>   "This isn't what my brother wanted!" Aydel hissed, frozen arrows forming around her.

  Butterflies crowded in uncertainly, their hands reaching for weapons and readying Translation.

  Rickard tilted her head, trying not to let her fear show. She had no reason to be afraid, after all. The Butterflies would see sense. "I'd think twice about harming me, if I were you."

  Aydel snarled, her eyes as cold as her ice. "Stop the Author, now!"

  Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ

  Stop! Anson screamed. Everyone who died... Everything we sacrificed... I didn't do any of it for you!

  The world rotated around him like one of the globes in the Academy's laboratories. Only this time, he was trapped inside, dragged in circles as everything that was him whirled. The blood, the screams, the fire. It was all too much. It was all too far beyond him. He couldn't touch it. He wasn't a part of it. He was nowhere.

  "No," the Author agreed, "you did it for you."

  That isn't true! I did it for Auratessa! I...

  A distant memory flickered inside him.

  I wanted the world to be more than it is.

  "That dream was mine." Anson felt his lips curl into a smile without his permission. "I will make a world more than Auratessa. A beautiful world. A paragon."

  No! Fury blazed through Anson, but it had nowhere to go. I wanted to save Auratessa—I wanted to make it better! I don't want it destroyed!

  The Author scoffed. "Look at this world you say you wanted to save. Look at it!"

  Bodies stained the soil of Havventhale and Lusanthine alike. The Academy's cells were some of the first rooms rebuilt in the broken school, already filled with captive soldiers forced to live and die as specimens. Lyrum tortured Human hostages in the bowels of a hidden colony, demanding information the civilians didn't have. Fires burned, both natural and divine. Anson wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn't. He had no eyes to close. There was nothing he didn't see.