"A passover." rrin smiles. "A new change from the way things used to be. No. I suppose it's not really a change, but rather an advancent. Deepening the lore of it all." Behind him, the tunnel pulsed with firelight—small kindlings burning beside the tal walls, flas gold and restless, casting shadows like dancers with broken limbs.
A sigh leaves him, then, without sound, it changed. The flas didn't dim, they faded—bleeding from gold to copper, to a tired, sick orange. Shadow beca impotent. The smoke dropping into a heavy gray, like thread cut from the spindle.
Even the sleeping witnesses lost their flesh vibrancy, all in a mont.
"Ah." Ron noticed. "Sothing wron—"
"Forget about it," rrin says, vivacity, returning to the dulled hallway. "It's nothing to worry about."
"Mmm." Ron rumbled, "We break through?" He ans the wall.
"I break through." rrin corrects, "I will do this with my own ans."
"You might unallowed there."
"I should be welcod." rrin looks to the side, a black bug, skittering into a rock side.
"If you go as you now. You be rejected."
So he, too, has beco a creature of fanaticism. "Not once have they ever done it."
"But they been without you." Ron says, "And you yet truly speak your truth to them. Who ets them? sunBringer, ashman? Savior? Who?"
"Who do you think I must be?"
"It is written." Ron says, "God rise from the 8 clans. They know. This what you make them see."
"So I am god?"
"I see signs." Ron says, "From light, prophecies, words. I see."
"Prophecies?" rrin mutters. "So I fulfill prophecies? And here I thought my actions were the products of a frenetic will. Chaos, but my chaos."
"The prophecies written because they happen."
"A wheel." rrin smiles, turns to Ron. "Thank the father above that we stand now in Nightfell." He leans closer. "One of the 8 clans."
"Ah…Kael'Thureon!" Ron exclaims, eyes wide—a certain fire burning within.
It is done.
rrin sees it in this man—the new growth. Outside the unknown changes experienced, Ron had undergone another. Like Yein, like….Moeash.
His change is complete.
I own him now.
"Let do these things." rrin says, "Maybe you will tell them soday in the future." A soft chuckle. "Or soone else…But let take the predetermined path." It always brought back to these monts. Regardless of my reservations, refusal, the world wants to make into this man.
So
I accept its hands, just for now, just for today. For them. Let accept and see what it prepares for .
"So the martyr is no more." A soft pitch, flowing into the awareness. A glance, and he sees the beautiful Catelyn. A woman, despite the pains, smudges, radiated an uncanny elegance. He wonders what she looks like cleansed of the filth.
The thought vanishes as she lumbers forward. "So what happens now, god?"
rrin offers a smile, she declines with a scowl. "Sothing."
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She scoffs. "Who in damnation are you to choose this? To say this and do this? What gives a re caster that right?"
Ron Stirrs, rrin calms him with a wave. Instantly, like a piloted beast, he stops. "What do you think I am?"
"A simple caster. A marauder."
She is taller than he is, so he looks up.
"How sure of that are you? You are an intelligent woman." He says, "Ponder. Consider rrin Ashman as a case. Do I not break the very rules and restrictions known for casters? Stronger. Faster. Better than they ever could. That says sothing. Listen to it. You believe yourself smarter than I am…Study it."
She is silenced, and he strolls past her, stopping three steps away, fla casting his shoulders like a darkened giant across the walls. "Rember this. You cannot truly know an endless wheel. A paradox." He says. "Catelyn, believe this as sure as the very winds and storms. I am what I am, and that is what I will forever be."
The greatest threat to any organism often cos from its own species. As mbers of a species compete for the sa vital resources, growth becos limited—not by what is most abundant, but by what is most scarce. According to the Law of the Fewest, it is the least available essential factor that ultimately governs the rate of growth. In other words, the weakest link sets the limit—Author Unknown.
rrin sits, right leg rotted still on the darkened floor, slanting him to the side. No high stone, just the relatively chilled earth warming by the passing second. There, he ponders Ivory's words. Truth. Who was it that gave him such rights? He could claim the previsions did, whatever they were. Not many in Eastos knew more than one line of the prophecy:
God will be born in one of the 8 clans. They then will shatter the darkness and bring luminance back to enor. It registers for Ron to see the signs in him; however, he was not the saviour. He, was a man, one with a hard, yet truthful desire.
To save his people.
Not the world…his people.
The witnesses do sothing. Pacing about, shadows flickering long blacks against the walls. Fabrics torn, shredded, and reworked in fervent celerity. Who knew an axe played such roles in needlecraft? The tool used to slice into soft fiber easily. The needle itself was provided by the giant Ron. Odd that even without his robe, things found their way off him. Near magically. rrin allowed the quip to simr within. Ron, once a cloaked man, now this….
Catelyn had presented the thread. The last necessity and the witnesses made garnts for themselves.
He knew what happened now, saw the inevitable arc of it, yet he permitted its results. He knew the consequences, the bitter draught he was destined to drink, and still, he drowned with it. This was the only way—the imperative, the sole way.
Therefore, he would not lose heart even though the inward man was perishing, that core of him being consud, the outward self was being renewed, mont by mont, for he would stand as light, not for a fleeting mont, but for a far exceeding length of ti. For them.
rrin hid his face and sighed. They must never see him weakened, and he stands, strolling within their midst. Many bow at his presence, heads slamming into rock in that audible snapping sound. It startles. And he wonders whether to command them against it…mand. Not ask.
He stops before Davos, the stone-handed sat, slumped on the walls, eyes staring at the outside nothing. Just a grim, hollow visage of a face. Does he regret what he has done? The woman, crushed under a stone, fits back into present awareness. Does he feel pity, fear, or anxiety? Which is it?
Even now, the obvious combatant had not registered his presence. Was he not, or was the giant Ron more sensitive to such things? It is a question, a crucial one. No matter the reservation, the truth scread like thunder.
He needed a warrior.
Warriors.
Today could be the day of safety, he knew that, or it could not. Sothing of unity had grown within the witnesses: a family. Unbreakable. Mirth-laced voices shudder through the hallway—n, won, conversing as one familiar to the other. Pain had forged them as one. Togetherness. Without him, they would remain as such. This prompted the need for a constant protector.
A proxy they would always see.
This he must do for them. The question was…who? Not many of these new witnesses had their nas imprinted in his mory. Truthfully, none had their nas in his mind. Not good. So he divides his awareness, one listening, the other observing.
It is a requisite that they must survive. Hence, Davos, here, resisting the very truth that he bears, must break out of that shell.
I need a warrior.
“Davos!” He calls hard, the man trembling for a mont, recognition flashing in his eyes.
“sunBringer.” There is no condensation in the tones.
He has seen control the winds. He has seen battle the fire demon. He fears now.
“Co with , Davos.” rrin gives no mont for declination, walking on towards a corner of the hallway. A smaller path used by the witnesses in the discovery of this one. There he waits, slanted on the side of the red rusted wall, and darkness here is like an oily veil. Walls, too, bear more severe heat than the other. Seems like the symbols did not reach this one.
Regardless, he waits, playing with the stoneknife. A brown, red hilt, a dark, and slightly red tal. Crown of the Talemir. He thinks to peer into its symbols, wonders then if his force was enough for it.
Force, as it turns out, defined how deeply he saw the unseen world. This was a discomforting thought. To know, even now, he had not seen much of the obscure reality.
More symbols. More bizarreness yet existed. He chuckles more than he wants to, swinging the knife between fingers, adapting to the weight. This weapon isn’t like his—the tal weighs more, stone, a rude thing of shoddy carving. His carving.
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