It had taken Pride some time to come to terms with his Wish.

It wasn't that he didn't have anything that he wanted--far from it. It was more that two horribly disparate desires had been tearing his heart in half.

Not-... literally, thankfully. But his first, brief thought had been to wish Nassir, somehow, back to life. Would it even be possible-? Somehow, he'd thought that the magic he'd felt brush through him--yes--could do even that. That, of course, would have left Fireheart quite dead, which was cruel enough on its own, but-... there was an even harsher thought that had occurred to him then, that had struck him powerfully and left him mired in indecisive guilt.

Would it not be selfish-?

He'd stood, staring in silence, gaze tilted upward at the skeleton of Reseda. At the battered, faded stone of Orion's Throne. Or, on other days, he'd made the short pilgrimage to the Forum, and stood high along its benches, staring down at dimly lit, bloodstained sands.

Selfish, to wish to bring back the dead--only because I miss them--when so many living are in danger.

The Masters, with their desires to stamp out protest; the Hands with their unfathomable power. Memories of Lord Dhracia, of Tenzin's bloodied feathers and Raheerah's agonized, oil-melting cries--plagued his thoughts, his dreams and nightmares. To his family, he must have seemed a little distant, though he tried to hide that behind a patient smile, to focus when they needed him.

To the feather, that magic brush of selfless possibility, he'd clung indecisively until now. Every wish he could think of he had turned down, but now-... now, at the edges of Mercurius's garden, looking in-?

I can't lose him, too. The rest of them. Mercurius, yes. And Acheron, Cadenza, Temperance, Ember--the family he'd gained across the cycles. And those beyond. The innocents, the strangers to him, those who deserved to live their lives.

What if some danger loomed, threatened, descended on them--and he'd done something foolish with that wish?

Can I wish for a theoretical..? he wondered, silvered gaze drifting across Mercurius's gleaming lights.

A soft exhale escaped the white stag's nostrils and he came to a sudden, quiet, almost subdued decision.

"I would very much like--I wish--that if such a threat comes, something from the Masters, the Hands... something that would kill the Gembounds in this cave... I wish to be able to stop them. To protect everyone, somehow, from that danger." He didn't know the specifics; he wasn't even sure a Wish, its magic, could grant something so terribly vague. Or perhaps it would come up with its own interpretation; Pride really wasn't sure.

But he did know that if Vargas, if Astraea, if Dhracia herself had descended on them all, here and now, he'd try and fight back. To gain them time, at least, to get away.

He only wanted the power--somehow--to actually succeed.

Whatever it might cost him.

red deer img credit - dan seagrave

Although the autonomous magic within the feathershard could not converse with Pride, it could relay the generic feeling towards answers in a sense of knowing; and when Pride finally decided his wish, there was a hesitancy in the feedback of its response.

Almost as if it were considering the possibility of what was requested, the feathershard glimmered and stopped, then glimmered again. Whether it was creating scenarios to test its capabilities or something else was unknown, but eventually, its ethereal form glimmered for a final time before dissipating into cosmic dust.

As for Pride, he would briefly find himself locked within a vision—an oath:

The blurred, incomprehensible movement and flashes of battle, the sounds of metal on metal, cries and shouts of words unknown, all twisting and hurtling before his eyes: men and beasts and those in between, and those altogether different, locked in the endless cycles of war and carnage. And always, the glimpse of a gleaming hero, his sword or claw or maw held high, a rallying roar bellowing from his throat before he would be struck down, sacrifice for his brethren who would survive thanks to him. Paladin. Champion. Martyr.

Such would be Pride's Fate, should the need arise, and like the visions, he would be there, every time. Unable to die, unwilling to die, should the need for his protection from a force otherwise unstoppable arise. It will kill him but the opposition would know, would feel Her plea: Spare them. Spare these creatures. And Pride's stone will regenerate itself, his physical body decomposing as it prepares to birth him anew, again, over and over.

There will be no rest for him, no escape, no afterlife, not even in the End.

Would that he could know the fate of one similar. Its name whispers in his ear but it is quiet, and he does not know it—as if the wish itself thought of it—Kak???... He cannot grasp the name fully. For a moment Pride feels the madness and the somber longing for death that it suffers, the blue fur of its face wet with tears under its big green eyes: Let me go. Let me go. LET ME D—

But the thought is snatched away from him like the crack of a whip and he is again alone in Orion.

Emotions shuttered past like the flash of lights beyond the windows of the Tunnel S tram.

First--as the feather glimmered and seemed to hesitate--the white stag felt breath hold in his throat, anticipation and yes, hope warring with that nervous uncertainty. Could it be done? Or would his Wish be sadly rejected, turned away, his desires dashed with impossibility?

Then--the vision, the oath. The hope rose, swelling, pride and joy welling up in him. It was grim, yes, this war; but he, he could save them. Death--which is what it seemed, at first, to foretell--that was... sad, but an acceptable sacrifice. With this he could be satisfied. He-

Wait.

There was more, that brief vision of a blue face, tear-streaked fur, madness and desperation in emerald eyes. And to this, he felt first a deep and stirring pity, so much so that he stumbled forward a step, the click of hoof on stone too sharp--as if he could stride toward this being, save them, rescue them from this fate with another Wish he did not have.

But they were gone, then, leaving only that whisper of a half-name in his mind and--ahh.

Horror. That next in the stream of sudden, powerful emotions this Wish granted him.

This is to be my fate?

The white stag stood alone, beholding his eternity. Silent, breath caught, he stared into immortality with terror. There was no more wonder at what might be. He KNEW, now. Knew he'd never escape the wish he'd just wrought, bound himself with, a magic stronger than any iron chains shackling him to the caves.

Nostrils flared, and ears pinned back. Silver eyes stared off into nothing.

And... duty took hold, sliding in alongside that horror and, gradually, subsuming it. Grim acceptance. Submission to this Fate, yes; to the responsibility he'd just mantled upon himself. If this was to be his fate-... then so be it. He felt, somehow--distantly--a suspicion that he'd just cut ties, cut away possibilities, he'd never known he had. He knew nothing of any End, of other endings for himself. He knew only that he now stood alone, well and truly alone--bar that tear-stained blue creature. I will save that one, if I am ever granted the chance, he decided firmly, albeit with grim sadness rather than any bold heroism in his heart.

His head dipped down, as though a collar weighed now upon his neck.

Well-... he tried to tell himself, as far as duties and eternal, maddening Fates go-... I could do worse.

The concept of a paladin stuck in his mind, and he shook his head to clear the thought. Martyr, sacrifice--let him be that, then, if he had to be. He had the diamond armor already, after all. But there'll be no shining lights and promises of heroism. No, he'd keep this quiet. A secret, perhaps to all but Mercurius--he'd hold this power, whatever it proved to be, to himself until he truly needed to reveal it. Just in case.

The gentlest, questioning tug at his mind drew him from his thoughts: Mischief, drawn by his cascade of varying emotions, hopping slowly toward him. He turned, stepping quickly to her, dipping her head down to nudge at the white-furred head between her ears.

It was to soothe himself as much as her.

He glanced around halfheartedly, intending to pick up the feather and go back the way he'd come, but--Ah. It was gone. Of course. The stag gathered himself, twitching his tail-... and lost himself again in the memories of what he'd just seen, staring blindly into Mercurius's garden, oblivious to the familiar waiting at his side.

red deer img credit - dan seagrave

exit Pride