Most likely… This I AM, despite the enigma of his nature, still existed with certain predictabilities. Perhaps this was a consequence of her true awakening as a caster, but right now, sitting here with this creature… she felt an odd sense of knowing. As though, for the first time, she could grasp its thoughts.
"I think for a—"
"WHAT USE IS THERE IN DODGING MY QUESTIONS?"
She froze, eyes locked on that form of his—that form with a head purely of a glowing orb of light. What does it even know? Her eyes drifted to the red flora scattered across the grounds. How familiar they were to her. She remembered them. Remembered the moment Rhaena had conjured beauty for her special day. One of many, no doubt, but that was her day… and men had ruined it.
Her eyes went up. I can't think with all these reminders!
Pillars rose from the ground!
She startled—up they went. Giant columns rising around the gardens, walls sprouting from the floors. Even the ground was now a sleek pavement of mirroring black, much like the architecture of the Nightfell Lands. Was there relevance in that?
She wondered, awe-filled, as the sky was barriered by a high square ceiling, square markings trailing across its form. Everywhere they were—the tell-tale signs of the workmanship of the House of Noctis. Was I AM related to the Night Clan?
Her eyes lowered, realizing then the alien space she now existed in. Gone were the red flora, the canopy-like branches of elastic wood, and even the sky of mashed colors. All were gone, replaced with something else. It was a hall, much like the grand hall of the Valor Clan: massive, with stone pillars the size of mountains, all black and glossy.
And in this vastness of space, there was nothing… only one thing. A throne!
Now this is a change.
At the end of the room was I AM, seated. High above, the vaulted arches were bathed in a pale light. Three towering lancet windows spilling the light of that white sun, blinding. That said something.
Don't look directly at me?
In the nave, a spiral staircase rose from the ground, curving, too small for more than one person. And up there was a throne: high-backed, square, and stone. And seated on it was him. I AM, his face ever enshrouded in that blinding haze of light.
What a change. Ivory stared, the light stinging her pupils, and yet she knew not to lower her gaze. A highness was expected of certain things. "You have redecorated."
His voice flowed from the height, softer than she had ever known.
"It serves a double purpose," he said. "It's obvious the red… irritates you."
Her eyes narrowed. He sees me!
"Now, about that attack."
Ivory placed her palm before her stomach, one atop the other, poised. She had to be. Whatever this was, whatever was happening to this formless, it was undoubtedly a change. One she had to flow alongside it…
Argon had wanted that.
She managed a silent breath. "There was a man…"
Collective analysis of Eastorian lineage dictates a certain possibility of incomplete history regarding family and ancestry. For example: who were the parents of Mel Valor the Foolish? Such questions pose a greater fear of incomplete data.
There was a silence within the Dreaming—the walls, sleek and black; the giant pillars like mountains that held the vast ceilings above. And more, Ivory had come to notice them: the presences. Perhaps this also was the consequence of a snapped mind; perhaps, in truth, such things could only be understood or sensed by the Caster.
Who could have known? Most likely, not many have existed in such situations.
Her eyes drifted past the rather lofty I AM, seated high on that throne, locking instead on a shadow of a thing. Right there to her right, behind a pillar the size of boulders. She knew it. Could almost taste the presence. A shadow clothed in a pooling black robe!
I've been wondering where they are… Ivory thought, mentation producing a reference that the shadow was likely the same creature that had breached her room before. The one she had painted in fright… She paused on that word: Fright.
What a manthing to say!
A voice boomed from the throne—I AM. "This Kabal, who is he?"
She endured a brief swirling of emotion. "He is—was—an Aspirant, one that was killed by the Son of Fray, a member of the Highfamily. Heid is his name." She lingered, attempting the strange breathing within her mind. It helped little. "He wore the form of Kabal and found a way to Valor… There, he did what he did. There, he brought a group that goes by the Pained Martyr sect. They were the ones that caused it all."
I AM muttered a question. "Were they the ones that brought the Fermen?"
She gritted her teeth. "No. Those were another."
"A different enemy," he whispered, voice softer.
"Yes." Her head lowered for a moment. "The leeches at my heels."
"And this group?"
"There is nothing on them," she said, eyes wandering to the mountainous pillars. More shadows they were now. A few hundred, if she were to guess. Lords, how many were they? "The loremasters and even a few wandering Scholae had given no records of such a group."
"A shadow."
"More of a coward," she flared internally.
And again came that silence. Annoying. What purpose did the quitude serve? Was it another aspect of him?
"Tell me, Ivory," I AM said. "What measure do you have to battle this?"
Ah..
And that was it… the dreaded question.
What measure did she have against this? Against the potential recursiveness of that moment. Against the truth that she may yet again fall for such a thing…
Was it to seal her heart from people? Or to build a Small Council around herself… a mere shell to act as a buffer? So what then was the right answer? What was she to say?
Nothing.
"I…" Her eyes scaled to the throne. "Why are you asking me this?"
Silence.
"Do you maybe have some way to help me?" She sharpened the words.
Was she to do that?
Was it right to speak such words before him?
Maybe not…Maybe some modicum of respect was to be awarded to such a creature. It wasn't human after all….But….
Oh, by the heavens, this formless would have to become her cushion for now. "Can you save me?" She questioned. "Is that what you want? Is that what you are about? Maybe you know something. Perhaps you have some cure for the Crimson Rot."
She stepped closer. "Tell me, I AM, why exactly are you asking me these questions when you have no way of EVEN HELPING ME!"
Then the cold came upon her—a soft intrusion. A force.
"Calm yourself," he said. "You have taken a false enemy."
Realization came.
She froze, sensnng suddenly the loss of her anger. No more could she feel that boiling rage, that fire underneath her skin. It was gone. Like the blowing of steam, it was no more. What was it? What had just happened?
What had he done?
It was…oddly, calmer within. A rare thing.
She chuckled—first time in a while. "Look at the mockery I have made of myself."
Silence.
"Tell me what I'm supposed to do?" Bear with me; you're not human after all, so you alone can see this patheticness. She dropped to her knees. "What am I supposed to say to this…?"
"Perhaps you need help?"
"Yes…" she said. "I do… but I can't truly have them in the way that matters. I can't have them listen to my words and share their true thoughts without some hidden motive within them. Such things cannot exist for me."
"It could."
She looked up, wide-eyed. "Do you plan on bringing them to me?"
"And what exactly would that be?"
"Here!" She waved her hand. "Isn't that what you want? What you have done" Formless were further shaped by beliefs; the more people that knew him, the stronger he could become… THAT'S IT! "You could have an Assembly here, or wherever else you have made in this world of yours… It could be it. It could be the way."
"That's enough for today."
What?
The world went dark—a ringing in her ears.
Ivory jolted awake, the grand hall blurring across her vision. She could see it: the pillars, the empty halls, her back still pressed against the seat. She was back, awake now.
He just ended it? Her palm caressed her hair. Was that a no?