The job was done and Autochthon has retrieved his Jouten. One of his secret weaknesses was no longer in a place where it could be killed by overly ambitious treasure hunters because of his complete lack of foresight. While Horizons and Star dealt with the paperwork and Five got their new guest settled into the Salient, Turncloak went home.
His home isn't as lonely as it used to be. The Thing That Is lives there now, at least when it isn't on call killing forbidden horrors that make their way into Heaven. Five has a key as well, mostly to make sure he doesn't miss meetings. It is no longer a place for him to just drink, brood, and sleep.
In this case, he does need to sleep, and sleep he does. But for once, the First Abyssal does not dream of horrors and nightmares. Tonight, Death's Chosen lays in a green field. His head is on a woman's lap and the sun is at perpetual twilight, and the soft wind blows through his hair and not even a single blade of grass is moving, and he never has to do anything ever again. The hands in his hair are kind and relaxing, and he is warm and the dream does not want to end-
But he blinks. The dream is different. He is on a road, and he recognizes the road. The road towards the village of his happiest memories. He walks along it, brow furrowing, nose scrunching. The road curves upwards- like a mountain. Like a hill. Upwards into the sky but he doesn't feel tired. Doesn't feel any effort, but this is a dream.
He feels the warmth of the sun on his face but it does not itch. The clouds part for him, and at the end of the road is a throne. It is not ornate or gold. It is simple stone with armrests, with a orange cloak over it. It looks hand made. It looks comfortable. Sitting in it is the Unconquered Sun.
"Most High," Turncloak says, bowing.
"Rise, Turncloak," the King of Heaven says, smiling with a friendly gesture, "First of all, thank you for your efforts in helping Autochthon retrieve his Jouten. It puts me at ease that he isn't in as obvious danger as he once was."
Turncloak stands, hands folded behind his back. "It puts all of us at ease, Most High."
"But it was not for that purpose that I summoned you into this dream." The Sun tents two of his hands together. "You have prayed to me and I have heard those prayers. From the beginning. You are owed answers."
The Abyssal still stands at attention. He takes a deep breath- this is a dream, but he is still him. "To what, may I ask?"
"'Why?'" The statement is solemn, pronounced from on high. "It is a question you've asked me, very often. I haven't answered it, and that has been unfair of me."
"Why didn't you save me?" The words are unbidden. Bitter. Lack the respect he would normally reserve for the King of Heaven, and come from the pit of Turncloak's soul. He removed his mirrored shades, folded them carefully, and placed them in one of the inner pockets of his robes. The eyes beneath were steel grey, the shadows of Oblivion boiled away by the Sun's radiance.
"Why did you allow them to do this to us? To me? The Last Breath should have ended with my death, not…this."
After a moment, he raises a hand. A speaks again. "Not even that. Not even about me. What happened to you that you just play Games in the Jade Pleasure Dome? As we scramble to turn the Enemies of Creation? Why is an agent of Oblivion taking action in place of the Unconquered Sun?" The words had begun impassioned, angry. They ended quiet. A genuine question.
The Sun nods. There is consternation on his face, but no anger.
"I was created as a perfect being, but not because I was supposed to rule or guide. When Theion, Cytheria, and the Dragon's Shadow created me, they made me perfect so that the Shadow could reflect himself off of me. Being perfect is not a gift. It is a trial, which I spent a very long time fighting against because the world is not perfect."
That gives the Abyssal pause. Gods are purpose made. Each fulfills a specific role and specific duties. The first gods had been designed by the Primordials, and the Incarnae directly created by multiples. The Ignis Divine was no exception, but to think of him in such a way was…a certain leap of logic. To hear him describe himself, his own creation in such a manner demanded an amount of reflection on the answer.
"You're telling me they didn't build you to be capable of coping with Creation?"
The Sun nods with a sigh. "Remember, one of my creators was the Adversary. I was created to protect Creation from the Wyld. I lead the Gods during the Primordial War, and gave Creation to the Exalted. In time, I had to turn my face from Creation."
The Sun tents two of his hands on his lap. "During the War, at one point I surrendered myself to the Primordials. They held hostage a single, mortal human, and my compassion forced me to give myself up to save them. They attempted to break me, and when they believed I was, they offered me a seat at the Games."
Turncloak blinks. "What happened?"
"I bested them and threw open the Gates so the Exalted could directly invaded Heaven. It was one of the great victories. But that is also my curse. My virtues are a trap that keeps me where I am. I can only act when I cast them down, and doing so leaves me vulnerable."
Turncloak hated when he understood these sorts of things. Absolutely hated it. Hated when he had sympathy. "How vulnerable?"
"The more I act, the greater the chance I will die," the Sun explains, "That is the contradiction I have to deal with. To interact with the world, I need to cast down one of the four treasures that embody my virtues, and when I do so, I make myself vulnerable. But, I have embraced this. I will die, perhaps sooner rather than later. I have accepted this, but not out of fatalism. I accept this because when I die, someone will rise to take my place and role and they will not be shackled by my virtues. Perhaps that is even why you are here."
Turncloak was blind. There were tears running down his face, and all he could see was pain, and all he could hear was the Sun telling him that when he acts, he will die, and maybe Turncloak was destined to take his place.
His head was averted now, and he was holding a hand to his eyes, hunched over. He was supposed to look dignified and badass and he was failing. After a few moments, he finally gritted out,
"Well that isn't exactly ideal for any of us, huh? One of the goals here is that the Unconquered Sun doesn't die."
"That is fate. But, the Exalted exist to defy fate. Never forget that. But your question, your first question, you asked why you. Why you were captured by the First and Forsaken Lion, why you were turned into the First Abyssal."
"No." Again, with gritted teeth. Again, unable to see. "I asked why you stood by while a Solar Exaltation was tarnished."
"I cannot see into the Underworld."
A sigh, from the King of Heaven. "At least, that is the excuse. But it is also a question I have asked myself. If I could have interfered, I would have. If I could have saved you, I would have. If I could have destroyed the forces that harried you, I would have. But I couldn't. But it is hard to explain, so I would like to give you a chance to understand."
He waves his hand and in Turncloak's hand appears a bracelet. "A gift, freely given. Wear it, and as long as you do so, you will be able to act as I do."
Turncloak turns it over in his hands. Vision was coming back, barely, blazing light in the direction of the Sun and darkness in every other direction. But in his hands the bracelet was as clear as if in a well lit room.
He was enough of a scholar that the things he had learned in this conversation made sense. He was enough of an asshole to still be plenty angry with the Sun. He was enough of a mortal he could still appreciate both.
"Don't let this be the last time we talk. We both stand to gain from other interactions."
The Sun smiles. "I hope it will not. We have much to learn from each other."
