Reborn From the Cosmos

Arc 8-13

“Have you thought about our previous conversation?”

Orum’s question pulls me out of my silent contemplation. As usual, he found me in the early hours of the morning and led me on a tour of the city. This time, we settle in the shadow of a half-decimated building, the right side a pile of rubble leaning up against the surprisingly intact left half. I can clearly imagine the daily lives of those who used to inhabit it; the first floor is a shop, a restaurant I’m guessing given the number of overturned tables and broken chairs. The second floor is a living area. I know it is because a bedframe hangs out a shattered wall, stuck between the crumbling floor and a particularly large piece of debris. My spectacular eyes spot a broken comb in the remains of a dresser, a plain thing that is either cheap, a beloved hand-me down, or both.

That was a girl’s room. A young girl that saw the comb as a toy? Or a young woman who cared for her looks? Maybe it was just a part of her responsibility to her family’s business, a pretty smile effective in bringing more business. Or maybe she had a love of her own.

I shake away the idle thoughts. My mind thinks of such unnecessary things during these quiet moments. Orum asked me something. Ah. “Not really. If you have something you want to tell me, you should just say it. Kii told me you want me to realize something, but wouldn’t it be easier if you just point it out?”

“Do you think yourself incapable of realizing it on your own?”

I frown. Did he just call me stupid? Or at least insinuate it?

“How do I know? If you’re trying to be as vague as possible, then of course there’s a good chance that I’ll get it wrong. Something like that isn’t my fault. It’s yours if you’re choosing to make this difficult.”

“I see. You’re afraid of making a mistake.”

My frown deepens. Why does he insist on taking what I say in the worst way? “I’m not afraid.”

“There is no reason to be. There is no right answer, therefore there is no wrong answer. We are merely reflecting together. What you derive from that is yours.”

“Reflecting on what?!” I shout, voice rising with aggravation. “I destroyed the city and killed a bunch of people. I’m not exactly proud of it but these idiots brought it on themselves. I don’t mind helping them mostly because I don’t want more problems to end up on my doorstep, but I just know it’s going to be a pain. There! That’s the whole of it.”

The older elf is unfazed by my outburst, expression remaining serene. “Last time, we talked about power. How it differentiates people. Puts one above another.”

I groan, covering my eyes with a hand. “Sure,” I grumble, accepting that the man is on a mission and he’s not going to stop until he gets what he wants, whatever that is.

“Why do you believe this?”

“Because it’s obvious. The strong have more influence, more resources, more opportunities. More freedom. The weak are at their mercy. What do you call that if not unequal?”

He hums but there’s no telling if he’s agreeing or not. “If the strongest have the greatest value, then how do you assign value to the rest of the world?”

“Huh?”

“The weak. Is there a specific strength that divides the worthy from the worthless? Or is worth dependent on strength, adjusting according to one’s might?”

“Uh, it adjusts, I guess. There’s a ladder. Second-lowest run might be an ant to the top rung, but he can still lord over the lowest rung.”

“Then, at what point does strength have less value than utility?”

“Utility, as in skills? Craftsmen and the like?”

Orum hums again but this time it’s definitely acknowledgment for following along. “Strength is the pinnacle, but our lives require more than just destruction. Someone is responsible for every comfort that makes life pleasurable. The clothes you wear, the wine you drink, the bed you lay in. At what point does their ability to create become more valuable than strength?”

“How do you even measure that?”

“Would you rather be allied to the best winemaker in the kingdom or the strongest fighter?”

“Well, the winemaker but that depends. Plenty of people would choose the fighter, security over luxury. Most people, I bet.”

“But you are not most people.”

“No. I can protect myself.”

“Mm. So you can. I would suggest every sword and fighter capable of wielding them is useless to you.”

“And you. So?”

“When you have strength in abundance, it loses its meaning. That is because power is a tool, destruction a means to an end, not the end itself.”

I point at him. “I’m gonna disagree with you there. Destruction can be a worthy goal.”

“Go on.”

“Vengeance is a worthy endeavor. I should know. For generations, my family was tormented by bastards called the Grimoires. I’ve wanted to take them down since the first time I laid eyes on one of those redhaired crooks. The thought of taking them down was the sole motivation for my first summoning, where I contracted a legitimate threat to all intelligent life in the world. Their end was the end.”

“Did you plot against them because you wanted to end them? Or did you want to stop them from hurting your loved ones again? From hurting you?”

My heart squeezes painfully as I stare at him with wide eyes. Then hot anger causes me to grit my teeth. “It’s the same thing!”

He shakes his head and stands. He motions for me to follow but I cross my arms, glaring as I hold down the urge to curse him and his annoying questions.

My frustration deepens when he smiles indulgently. “Power is a tool. There is nothing emptier than a tool without purpose. A properly aimed arrow can change the world, while an arrow without aim is a tragedy waiting to happen. If we do not know where we’re meant to go, it is inevitable we step off the path. So how do we know the direction we’re meant to walk?”

“I’d ask you, but you never answer.”

“Your answers are yours…but the purpose of the older, wiser generations is to pass down their experience. Some people are led by their mind, using logic to conquer their rampant hearts. Some trust their hearts above all else, ignoring the logic of the world and those around them. Some balance the two, putting them on a scale and using the weight of the circumstances to push down one side or the other. Others still rely on tradition, trusting in another’s judgment more than their own. If you like, ponder this before our next walk.”

“I won’t!” I shout, but he ignores me, turning his back and striding away with a grace that doesn’t match his size. I fume at his retreating figure, wanting to get up but refusing to follow him back. Stupid elves and their stupid questions. What happened to the peaceful mornings when we didn’t say two words to one another? Can’t believe I used to think they were uncomfortable. Saints, give me back the silence and take that annoying man’s probing questions.

Why does he want me to ask them anyway? What does it matter? I wanted to destroy the Grimoires both for their sins and to protect myself. Senior had literally come to threaten me and enslave my elemental when I made him the instrument of his family’s downfall. Of course taking them down was an act of self-defense and defense of my family but even if they’d fled the capital and sworn to disappear, I wouldn’t have forgiven them. Oh yes, Geneva would have hunted them down to the last infant. Not a single one of those rats would have escaped if they dared to flee in the face of their retribution.

…but is that because I hate them that much or because I know for fact that if they weren’t completely crushed, they’d be a threat one day?

Agh! No, I said I wasn’t going to think about this! I wanted to end them. Ending them protected me and my family. Two monsters downed with a single arrow. I don’t have to have one reason for doing something and one reason doesn’t have to have more weight than the other. The heart isn’t so simple that every desire or emotion can be neatly cut apart and examined. It’s good enough that people be decent when they can and quick about it when they can’t.

Grumbling, I close my eyes and focus on my ears, making sure that Orum isn’t anywhere close. Satisfied, I climb to my feet and head for home, shoulders slumping as I realize I’m moving from one annoyance to another.

Really, can I just kick them out? They don’t need to stay with us, do they?

I take a moment and imagine what Morgene would do without the mystery that is me to occupy her attention.

Sigh. Nope, best to leave things as they are.

I summon the memory of dolled-up Alana trying to be stern to lighten my mood as I head toward my next trial. It might be unavoidable, but there’s no one stopping me from taking my time.