A New Plan
Ratham sat idly in his room as he watched the walls around himself, reminiscing on the words he heard Cass say. He felt his ears start ringing as thousands of years of thoughts slowly filed through his head like a movie, his stare blank as he was lost for words. He thought of Illadin, though gone now, being the one who steered him on this path, he said the gods in the Stars didn't exist.
But they did.
And they spoke to Cass.
His whole life he had been lied to, following a belief that the beings in the sky did not speak and wanted, yearned to be free. He asked himself if he was just following Illadin's path that he set for him for three thousand years. He himself had learned how to harness and see fate like his uncle, though without his help, he had saw his own fate before him and then it ended with his victory.
Ratham sat inside his deteriorating mind as he thought what he would do once his victory was won, his hold over fate itself in his hands and he felt ill, the walls of his perfect headspace melting even further as he heard a deafening ringing in his ears. For once, Ratham was lost, he did not know what to do as an uncertain path lay ahead after his victory.
What would become of peoples fates after it was all broken? Would Illadin take advantage of it if he was still around? The thought hit Ratham like a punch to the gut, he grasped at his head and stomach with each of his hands as his own system attacked him, him nearly vomitting. He refused to allow Illadin to have played him like a puppet. He was no puppet, he was the puppeteer.
A thought crossed Ratham's mind. Magic is able to seized, no matter how immaterial, there is always something to grasp. The Stars proved no different. Ratham looked up and reached his hand outwards, grasping at nothing.
And yet, he felt grains of sand run through his fingers.
Thousands of years of life, he had mastered every possible form of magic, studied every language, except for one. A language that held no words, a magic that had no sense to it. No runes, no incantations, and yet it existed. He could feel it running past his fingers like the sand in an hourglass. He shifted his grasp on it, now feeling like a gentle river lapping at his hand.
He could control it, he had grasped fate.
He heard Illadin talk about ancient humans, well before the age of giants, that could control this ancient, primal magic.
Fateweavers.
Ratham had a new plan. His fate was too engraved for him to change, yet the future after was cloudy and uncertain. After the Stars were freed. He would
Grasp
fate
and control
it.
But they did.
And they spoke to Cass.
His whole life he had been lied to, following a belief that the beings in the sky did not speak and wanted, yearned to be free. He asked himself if he was just following Illadin's path that he set for him for three thousand years. He himself had learned how to harness and see fate like his uncle, though without his help, he had saw his own fate before him and then it ended with his victory.
Ratham sat inside his deteriorating mind as he thought what he would do once his victory was won, his hold over fate itself in his hands and he felt ill, the walls of his perfect headspace melting even further as he heard a deafening ringing in his ears. For once, Ratham was lost, he did not know what to do as an uncertain path lay ahead after his victory.
What would become of peoples fates after it was all broken? Would Illadin take advantage of it if he was still around? The thought hit Ratham like a punch to the gut, he grasped at his head and stomach with each of his hands as his own system attacked him, him nearly vomitting. He refused to allow Illadin to have played him like a puppet. He was no puppet, he was the puppeteer.
A thought crossed Ratham's mind. Magic is able to seized, no matter how immaterial, there is always something to grasp. The Stars proved no different. Ratham looked up and reached his hand outwards, grasping at nothing.
And yet, he felt grains of sand run through his fingers.
Thousands of years of life, he had mastered every possible form of magic, studied every language, except for one. A language that held no words, a magic that had no sense to it. No runes, no incantations, and yet it existed. He could feel it running past his fingers like the sand in an hourglass. He shifted his grasp on it, now feeling like a gentle river lapping at his hand.
He could control it, he had grasped fate.
He heard Illadin talk about ancient humans, well before the age of giants, that could control this ancient, primal magic.
Fateweavers.
Ratham had a new plan. His fate was too engraved for him to change, yet the future after was cloudy and uncertain. After the Stars were freed. He would
Grasp
fate
and control
it.
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