Chapter 280 – Renewal

Mirian stood for a time, rehearsing the words the Unmoored had told her. She summoned her spellbook and wrote down several notes about the encounter, then let her fingers brush against the crystal window. Gradually, she let her fingers move to the device with the temporal anchors. Fifty slots, she counted. Most were empty. Several were occupied, which meant, if she understood the Unmoored correctly, someone in some timeline had died within a few months of their loop’s start. Perhaps a Prophet scouring the Labyrinth for a Vault. She reached out to touch one of the anchors, but then she was back where she was a half a second ago, finger still too far too touch. She tried again, and time distorted again.

Protected by causality, she remembered the Unmoored saying.

She still had so many questions. But that was the nature of things, wasn’t it? Some questions would have to remain unanswered. She yearned to understand the truths of the universe, but she desired agency over fate far more.

She traced her fingers across the walls. The texture felt electric. Intricate beyond belief, she thought. She spent a few more hours studying the room, studying the anchor device, and studying the strange arcane sphere in the center of the moon. She mulled over theories of different forces and fields, trying to understand, at least conceptually, how such sustained energy was possible. After a time, she wandered the halls again, marveling at the great machinery of the Gods. At last, she returned to the surface.

Exhaustion settled into her bones. Perhaps it was the air becoming stale. Perhaps it was her lack of sleep. Perhaps it was the depletion of her aura. She thought of her anchor, soon to be resting safely in the depths of Luamin.

Then she had a realization. The Unmoored said temporal anchors of one of the other Prophets in this era would be manipulable. That includes Scebur. When Jherica was incapacitated by curses, they died within a few days due to dehydration and organ failure.

None of the temporal anchors that returned are manipulatable.

That was troubling. Either Scebur had escaped his curse and hid—possible, but unlikely—or someone was lying.

She sighed. Perhaps she couldn’t blame the Prophet responsible. She hadn’t exactly been forthcoming either. Should she be surprised someone else had lied?

She would have to come to peace with imperfect trust. There would always be a threat, a lie, a mystery, an incomplete understanding. All she could do was strive to create the best future she could.

Still, perhaps it was finally time to share some truths she’d kept hidden.

One step at a time, time and time again.

As she sat in front of the mountain-sized structure on Luamin, looking out at the circle of Enteria, she began to consider her long term plans. Then, just before sleep took her, she closed her eyes and tapped her temporal anchor.

***

She found Ibrahim the next cycle in Rambalda, shortly after she’d linked the Gates. He was in a meeting with several men and women, marking areas on a map, but when he saw Mirian, he instantly dismissed them.

“If you’re here about the logistics holdups, you already know the problem I’m running into. It’s very easy to get Rambalda to fight Baracuel. Getting them to support Baracuel is not so easy. I’m experimenting with faster permutations of events.”

Mirian shook her head. “It’s not that,” she said, and pulled out a gray focus and placed it on the table. It was set in an orichalcum bracer, the kind he liked to wear.

Ibrahim gave it a skeptical glance. “I have one already,” he said, gesturing to his own jeweled bracer.

“You saw the eight celestial bindings on Divir. If you don’t know the ninth one, I can teach it to you. That focus has been prepared with relicarium. Bind it to you, and it will travel with your soul when you reset.”

Ibrahim stared at the focus. A little piece of a God, just sitting there on the table.

Mirian watched his face. First, there was the realization of what that meant. He was too far from any celestial focus to save his wife at the start of the cycle. Now, he could.

Next was the anger. He met her eyes briefly and she saw it burning there. He was a smart man, and he’d seen the other Prophets reacting to the bindings scrawled on the Mausoleum’s walls. He understood they’d been hiding this from him. Mirian included.

Then, he looked away, and the anger turned inward. Mirian saw that in the way the surface-currents of his soul twisted. He was a fool. If the others had found this, he could have too. His own rigidity and confidence had undermined him. He’d let himself be deceived.

Despair and regret followed, the rapids of a great river after storm, washing away all other emotions, carving through the banks that tried to contain it. All this time, he must have been thinking. All this time, I could have been with her.

His wife. His other half. His love. Her death at the start of the cycles had twisted him into a creature of sorrow-fueled rage, and he’d spilled blood relentlessly for years.

He’d screamed defiance at the Ominian Themself.

And then—joy. Mixed with grief, mixed with regret, but there—the new sun peeking through the fading storm.

He was a stoic man, but even the hardest armor could be crushed.

Ibrahim took the focus in his hand, arm trembling, and then fell to his knees and wept. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Mirian put her hand on his shoulder and let her own tears flow too. “I should have… I should have done it sooner. I was too caught up in my own fears. The fear of betrayal. The fear of my power being taken from me. I’m sorry.”

For a time, they stayed like that. Ibrahim’s body was wracked with tremors, his face soaked with tears. Finally he stood and faced Mirian. His eyes shone, both with tears and the power of the soul behind them. “I… will try to find it in myself. I will… I will try to forgive you. Not yet. Not yet.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “But thank you.”

That night, he finished binding the focus, beneath the watchful gaze of the Luamin moon.

***

When she made it back to Torrviol, she spent some time wandering the streets. A deep melancholy filled her as her fingers brushed the old walls of buildings, as her eyes swept up and down the familiar streets. Here, she’d ambushed an Akanan squad before moving to the underground. There, she’d tracked one of the spies back through his route. There, she’d walked to the grove with Song Jei and taken her first steps into true mastery of the arcane.

It had been a simpler time then. She’d focused on what she could control. One battle. One town. Her little sanctuary in a world that was spiraling into madness.

Focus on what you can control, she told herself. She had time. She had her plan. She would see it through.

Each of the Prophets had seen terrible things. Step by step, they would synchronize. Ibrahim’s rage would cool. Liuan’s scheming would calm. Gabriel’s skepticism could be tempered. Xecatl’s paranoia could be assuaged.

“Mirian?”

The fog of her thoughts parted, and she turned to see a shorter woman standing there in the street, staring at her. The look of fear she had didn’t suit her. She usually looked so haughty. Mirian blinked, trying to place her. “I know your face,” she whispered. “I knew your name. Funny, it’s been so long. There’s… so much to remember now. It slips away like the wind, some days.”

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The young woman started trembling. “So it’s… it’s true. But you… you don’t remember me?”

Mirian had a faint recollection, but it was all jumbled together with arcane formulae, runic patterns, family names, and endless trivia about logistics.

The woman fled.

Mirian stood there, sorting through people and places. Yes, there it was… that girl had been passionate about fighting in the battle of Torrviol. She’d helped out with the spies at one point. She had poor emotional intelligence. “Valen,” she finally said.

She thought of Grandpa Irabi.

Awe and fear can only do so much. But if they are to love me, they must see that I know them.

She could whittle away at some of the logistics issues this cycle. Tweak some variables. See what effect small actions could have. But this cycle, she needed to focus on something else.

***