Chapter 772: Parathyan’s Gambit

“Who could have saved the world?” Stryg asked. If there was a way to save Aleirune, he needed to know.

Wren looked at him as if the answer were obvious. “Parathyan.”

“You knew The Great Artificer?” Titania asked, much to Stryg’s surprise. Titania noticed his look, “What? Everyone knows Parathyan. My mother has a necklace made by the Artificer himself. She keeps it in a vault, but she showed it to me once. It’s really pretty. She says it’s one of her greatest treasures.”

“Parathyan enjoyed making pretty things. He said he much preferred making something that brought people joy, rather than weapons that only took lives. He was a kind soul, one of the best of us,” Wren said in a reminiscent voice.

“Were you close with him?” Stryg asked.

Wren smiled bittersweetly. “I was. We were friends, him and I. And so was your father.”

“My father was friends with Parathyan?” Stryg blinked.

“Oh, yes. Parathyan wasn’t only gifted with magic, he had an intellect for science and magic theory matched only by your father. But where your father had millennia to hone his skills, Parathyan’s understanding came naturally to him. I found him fascinating and so did your father. The two would talk for hours and hours about the minutiae of spell weaves and how they interacted with the greater spell forms. Your father and I came to believe that Parathyan was Alierune’s answer after several years of silence.”

“I didn’t know… about any of this,” Stryg muttered.

“I imagine there is much you do not know about your father,” Wren said with a bite to her tone, but it quickly melted away into a smirk. “Did you know your father tried to seduce me once upon a time? Or rather, I should say, he did seduce me. But it didn’t quite work out.”

“I did not. And I don’t particularly want to,” Stryg said.

Wren ignored him and continued, “You see, he wanted to replicate my power in a child of his own. But unfortunately, he discovered that though a soul possesses the talent for magic, only a body can pass down the ability. And since I no longer had my original body, procreating with me served him no purpose. He broke things off with me right after, as if all the kind words and interest he showed in me never existed. That was when I got the first glimpse of who your father really was. A Calamity. It wouldn’t be long after that Parathyan did either.”

“I thought Stryg’s dad was the Pale Owl?” Titania said.

“It was one of his epithets, but his existence stretches far back before the first of sune people ever walked this land,” Wren said. “Calamities are not like us, child. They aren’t even like Stryg. But Death was—driven by purpose, shall we say. He wanted to save his mother, The World Soul, no matter what. He explained as much to Parathyan and the consequences of what would happen if she were to die.”

“What would happen?” Titania whispered.

“Everyone would die,” Wren said. “Only a few, like the Calamities, would survive the aftermath. They would walk the land void of life for all eternity. Not a very pleasant existence if you ask me.”

“We can’t let that happen,” Titania said anxiously.

“No. No, we cannot. Which is why Parathyan dedicated his time to trying to find an answer. Eventually, after several years, he found one, along with a very stark conclusion.” Wren sighed and suddenly Stryg could see the woman behind the youthful face, her eyes spoke of wisdom born from countless years. She looked tired, exhausted.

“What was the conclusion?” Stryg asked.

“Chromatic mana is the source of Aleirune’s poisoning. So long as chromatic species exist, so will chromatic mana. Parathyan already knew this and was working on a solution, but he concluded that even if he were to devise a solution, it did not matter, for so long as titans exist, chromatic mortal kind would never be free… or safe,” Wren said.

“I don’t understand.” Stryg furrowed his brow.

“Your kind are born of chaos, the most central of elemental mana. Titans were Aleirune’s favoured children, not because of some arbitrary reason, but because they are a reflection of her. Her love for this world and her wrath for those who would seek to harm it. Parathyan realized that stopping the chromatic poisoning would not be enough. Eventually, the immortal titans would come to understand the only way to truly protect Aleirune is to eliminate the threat altogether.”

Stryg thought of Caligo, once Ananta, the Queen of Titans. She had come to the very same conclusion. The only way to protect The World Soul was to eradicate all chromatic bloodlines. Had his father come to the same conclusion? Was that why he created the beastkin? A soulless species without ties to magic altogether?

Stryg shook his head. Pondering such thoughts would lead him nowhere. Not now, at least. “You said Parathyan found an answer? A way to save Aleirune?”

“Yes, he did,” Wren sighed. “Parathyan designed a schematic of an artifact capable of stopping the poisoning. But it would require a sacrifice of the utmost order. He could not pay it, for he was a mortal, born of chromatic magic. There was only one person who could pay the price. Hope.”

“My father’s sister,” Stryg said grimly. She had disappeared a thousand years ago and no one had seen her since. Melantha had gone after her and had disappeared as well.

“And his equal,” Wren said. “Hope understood the gravity of what was being asked of her and she was willing to pay it. But Death, he would not accept it. He could not lose the sister who had walked with him since the early days of the Sundering. Death ordered Parathyan not to forge the artifact he had painstakingly designed. To help him figure out a new plan. But Parathyan knew there was no other that would not involve sacrificing chromatic mortal kind.

“And so, Parathyan was faced with a choice. He had a family. Wife and children. People who loved him. Apprentices who practically worshiped him. And a kingdom who believed in him. He didn’t care about the adoration, he cared about their lives, the lives of mortals so small and short that gods would never notice them. It was for them that Parathyan made his choice.”

Wren closed her eyes and frowned ever so slightly. “Parathyan decided to risk it all on a gambit. He decided to forge the artifact. …But Death found him first.” She looked Stryg in the eyes. “Do you know what your father did? To his best friend?”

“He killed him,” Stryg said quietly.

“No. If Parathyan were to die, his soul would enter the Soul Chasm. While Death has great power in that place, there are other entities that lurk in its darkness. Beings who would be attracted to Drakith’s Spark. They could devour Parathyan’s soul or worse, corrupt it and take his secrets for themselves. Secrets that could potentially harm Aleirune, for Death had shared much of his knowledge with Parathyan.”

Wren took a puff of her pipe, the rose smoke slowly floating out of her mouth as she exhaled. “Death would have to imprison Parathyan. But your father understood that Hope would seek to free Parathyan so that he could finish his work. Even if Death sealed Parathyan’s soul somewhere hidden, Hope would eventually find it. So I ask again, what do you think your father did?”

“I don’t know,” Stryg admitted.

“Death reached into Parathyan’s chest and ripped out his soul. To ensure no one would ever learn of Parathyan’s secrets, Death destroyed his soul. Parathyan would never enter the Soul Chasm, he would never make the swim through the cavern and be reborn. Parathyan was gone. Forever. But Death was not done. He destroyed the schematics and the forge. Then, to ensure that nothing remained that could restart the project, he…” Wren sighed deeply before continuing, “He killed Parathyan’s wife and their children. He slaughtered all their apprentices and everyone who lived in the castle on the mountain top. Not even those apprentices who had been far away at the time were spared, such as your ancestor, the Ebon Lord Koval.”

“But why? Why would he do that?” Titania asked in a shaky voice.

“Because he would not risk Hope. Death placed the life of a single individual over the lives of every being in the ten realms.” Wren grinned angrily, “Ironically, that was when Hope left. She never came back.”

“You’re saying my father had the chance to save Aleirune and he destroyed it?” Stryg asked skeptically.

“You don’t believe me. Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Wren said.

“I intend to.”

“Good. I’d expect no less,” Wren said. “Do me a favor and don’t mention where you saw me. I’ll be long gone by then, but I’d rather he not know just the same.”

“He’s hunting you?” Stryg asked.

“I suppose you could say I’ve cheated death a few too many times. And even though I wasn’t personally involved with Parathyan’s project, I am still a liability, the last liability. Not to mention, my soul is particularly unique. I am the only mortal to have lived this long. Your father would love to ‘dissect’ my soul if he were to ever get his hands on me.”

“That’s—morbid.”

“We’re black mages, Stryg. One gets used to such things, wouldn’t you say?” She gave him a wink.

“Honestly, I’m surprised you’ve managed to evade him for so long. Even Melantha struggled to hide from him,” Stryg said.

“Well, that’s because, unlike your sister, I have these.” Wren gestured to the mirrors lining the tent walls. “In Parathyan’s time, he created eight masterworks. These mirrors are one of them. While most of the masterworks were destroyed during Death’s slaughter, Parathyan had gifted me these mirrors a few days beforehand.”

“Why would he do that?” Stryg asked.

“I think Parathyan knew what was going to happen to him. He wanted to protect me from it,” Wren said.

“And these mirrors can do that,” Stryg said.

“Oh, they can do so much more. They helped me locate you and they keep me hidden from prying eyes. But I don’t think my mirrors are what you want to really ask me about, is it?”

“No,” Stryg admitted. “What did Maeve speak to you about?”

“Various things, some personal, others not. But the one I think will interest you is regarding the vision she had about you a few years ago? Maeve had so many questions about it. Unfortunately, I had some answers. That vision is the reason I came to find you.”

Stryg leaned forward, relieved to finally have some answers. “What exactly was the vision about then? Tell me, please.”

“It’s not the ‘what’ that concerns me. It’s the ‘whom.’ That is the problem,” Wren said.

“Me?” Stryg pointed at himself, confused.

“No. The ones who should not have been there. The Primordials.”